Hope
by ScintillatingTart
Summary: Hope is the most powerful emotion, even greater than love. [Harry/Ruth]
1. Chapter 1

So, this story is a way post-Cotterdam AU which does not take any of the show canon after series 5 as gospel. You have been duly warned. There will be shenanigans and malarkey. And things will happen. So, M rated to be safe. You have been warned for pr0n.

* * *

Hope  
by ScintillatingTart

* * *

Hope is the most powerful emotion, even greater than love. Faith is hope's sister, fickle and changeable, but always tied to Hope by the hip. If one was to take away all hope…

Harry Pearce shook himself a little in his painfully small plane seat. He could have upgraded to first class – he even preferred it – but he thought that his misery was well-deserved company for the trip home to New York. He briefly wondered at the change; how had New York had become home rather than London? How had he not known that the cities had changed places in his affections so easily?

He smiled a little in spite of his bad temper. Lucy, of course, had made all the difference. Catherine, his daughter, had extended an olive branch when she'd been pregnant, and he'd made the trip to the dingy little fifth-floor walk-up flat in Five Points that she and Brad had been living in at the time, only to find her due to give birth any day. That had been a surprise, and not necessarily a pleasant one.

Two weeks had turned into a month – but he'd had hundreds of hours of paid leave to burn through, so he'd been present at the birth, being the first person in the world to hold Lucy when she'd had her eyes open. Everything had gone swiftly downhill for a time after that; Brad had gone to Afghanistan to report on the withdrawal of US and UK troops and had been killed by a sniper. In her darkest days, post partum depression coupled with grief over her husband had led Catherine to nearly commit suicide.

Harry had been forced to sort his priorities, and in a bloody hurry.

Five had been rather gracious, all things considered. He took retirement and full pension, got a permanent resident visa for the United States, and left England behind in order to be the father and grandfather he had never allowed himself to be. Every so often, they recalled him to London for an operation, but he was usually back within a couple of weeks.

This operation had been nearly six months, and his temper was frayed at the edges. All he'd wanted for the last four months was to go home and scoop Lucy onto his lap and tell her a story. Instead, he'd gotten a bullet in his other knee and a fucking titanium joint on top of it. And now he limped around on a cane, so gone was the dashing spy of yore.

He was just an old so-and-so, put out to pasture.

The descent into JFK was bumpy, due to weather-related turbulence. It had been snow and ice on the ground for days, and he was not looking forward to the possibility of wiping out with his new cane, like an uncomical old man, on the front steps of their brownstone.

He wondered briefly if Catherine had gotten the message that he was coming home. She could be so flighty some days, and others, so very solemn; it was very disconcerting that he never knew until after the first cup of tea whether or not it was a good day or a bad day. On the bad days, he just kept Lucy busy and let Catherine wallow.

Harry wished that he had time to wallow, but Lucy kept him too busy for that.

Only when he was in London, away from them, did he allow himself the luxury of dwelling on the past. Only when he was on the Grid, and Ruth's absence was keenest felt.

To be fairly honest to himself, she was part of the reason he'd left: too many memories, good and bad, in Thames House. Part of the reason he'd stayed so long after being released from hospital and rehabilitation was because they were trying to undo the wrong they'd done so many years before. But he'd taught her too well, and Ruth was nowhere readily to be found.

She could be dead. She could be long dead, buried god only knows where. She could be just fine, living her best life, having forgotten all that had come before. He could only hope that, if she was still alive, that she was happy; mostly because, after everything, Harry was honest in admitting that he was happy. All right, maybe not over-the-bloody-moon-blissful, but he wasn't unhappy. He had a five-year-old granddaughter and a daughter who had forgiven him a multitude of sins, and… he was happy.

Catherine was waiting for him at the baggage claim, a smile on her lips; obviously, it was a good day. She bear hugged him and said, "I'm so glad you're home, dad. Your sidekick has been very sad that you haven't been able to come home."

"Well, I'm home now," he said softly, hugging her back, holding onto his balance very carefully. "I can't tell you much about the trip, except that there was a bit of a balls-up and I had to have a knee replacement done."

She pulled back and inspected him with concern, her eyes finally settling on the cane. "Will you be okay to manage the stairs at the house?" Catherine asked.

He nodded and smiled a little. "I'll be fine. Where's the little scamp?"

"School's off today, so I got the daughter of the French teacher to watch her so I could come pick you up," Catherine said dismissively. "Lucy loves Hope, and Hope might only be fifteen, but she's fully-certified and I trust her. She's been helping a lot since you left."

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm sure her mum is a glorified hippie, naming her damn kid Hope."

They gathered his bags and Catherine said, "She's really not that bad, Mary – actually, she's really rather brilliant. She's just had some shit happen in her life, same as the rest of us, and she decided to do something positive about it. Hope's a sweet kid and I hope you don't do that 'Harry Pearce, grumpy bear' thing and chase her off."

He grumbled; he was basically Lucy's father figure and, though he was a shit father figure, he was doing his damned best to make sure she was prepared for life after he was gone. Maybe he was slightly overprotective, but, damn it…

"I will behave like a perfect gentleman, but if I see her doing one thing wrong…"

"Dad, relax. God knows, it's hard to keep Lucy in line: she's too much like you."

* * *

Coming home was such a joy; the air smelled familiar (Catherine always had a warmer going with some kind of scented wax in it), the feel of the building that was his house was comfortable like his worn in loafers, and it really was a home, rather than just… some place that had no personality. Lucy's muddy snowboots were drying out, her pink coat on a hook, and he placed his coat next to hers, adding his hat for good measure. Catherine added her coat and scarf to another hook, next to an unfamiliar coat and – what he considered to be – a very ugly scarf, made up of garish colors. It was obviously hand-made, which ruffled his sense of order very much, but he kept his mouth shut.

No point insulting someone who didn't know the difference a good scarf could make. After all, she was only an American, this… this… Hope girl.

"Lucy, I'm home," Catherine shouted up the stairwell. "I found something you might want to see, love. Or rather, someone."

That did it: it sounded like a herd of elephants had been released. Lucy fell over three or four times in her excitement, so he could hear, and then her tiny body was hurtling into him at top speed as she shrieked, "Granpa! I missed you so much! So so much!"

"I missed you, too, little madam," Harry said, ignoring the pain in his legs as he did something he definitely wasn't supposed to do anymore – he lifted Lucy up into a huge hug and held her close. "You smell like crayons – have you been coloring?"

Lucy nodded. "Hope and me been drawing pictures for you and mommy," she said solemnly. "I've got lots of them 'cause you were gone really long, Granpa."

"I didn't want to be gone so long, monkey," he sighed, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"I was heating up some chili," said a soft voice on the stairs. "I figured you guys would be hungry when you got back. I should probably go – mom will wonder where I am and you've got a lot to catch up on."

Harry looked the girl up and down, sizing her up quickly with his secondary spook-sense. She seemed harmless enough – shorter than the average, very compact if not actually slightly chubby, a little bit of curve about her that suggested if she lost a few pounds, she might be a little too attractive to boys her own age, her hair short and pale pink, her eyes bright, clear blue. "You must be Hope – Catherine has told me a lot about you," he lied smoothly, extending his hand. The girl shook it, then pushed past him and grabbed her coat and scarf. Without so much as an actual word to him, she was gone.

"She's very shy," Catherine tried to explain. "She gets bullied a lot at school, so she doesn't really… people very well." She paused, then sighed. "I guess that's part of why Mary pushed so hard to get her to watch Lucy – they get along really well."

"I love her lots," Lucy said with a big smile, showing off three holes where teeth used to be. "She's really nice, Granpa."

* * *

Hope walked home in the biting cold, her scarf up over her nose and mouth, her knitted hat folded down low over her ears. She was only a couple blocks away, so it wasn't that bad, but she hated that everything made a wind tunnel and it was just so freaking cold. She didn't want to think about what a twit she'd just made of herself, freaking out about Catherine's dad shaking her hand – but he was an unfamiliar man, and just that was enough to make her clam up and run.

She knew it was irrational and rude, but she couldn't help it. After being picked on and humiliated day after day, week after week, by boys her own age, the last thing she wanted was some strange old dude thinking it was okay to be in her space when she was obviously not okay with pedos and pervs.

Her mom was waiting for her when she got home. "You're back early," was all Mary said gently from the kitchen of their studio apartment. "Are you cold? I've just made some cocoa and soup."

"Mama, you'll have to apologize to Catherine for me, please," Hope said very quietly, shedding her winter gear and running straight into her mother's arms, curling into her and breathing in her familiar scent. "I didn't mean to just run out of there, but her dad came home and I just…"

"Shh, I'm sure Catherine knows you didn't mean any harm," Mary said, rubbing her daughter's back soothingly. "She knows you're…"

"Stupid," Hope whispered. "I'm stupid."

"Not stupid," Mary murmured. "You've got PTSD and anxiety. It's okay, sweetheart. I promise. And if it makes you feel better, I'll go with you to Catherine's and meet her dad and make sure he's not some handsy old fart. God knows you don't need that after…"

"You can say it, mom," Hope said. "After I was raped by the captain of the football team."

Mary flinched and her hand stilled. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm sorry that I couldn't protect you from him…"

"No, but you're protecting me now," Hope whispered.

Hope was love in the darkest places, a soft breath of gentle affection that bolstered the spirit and rallied it for fighting. Hope lived in both hope and blind fear.

* * *

Ruth held her daughter close and tried not to cry; it was all so much, still. It had only been a few weeks since Hope had finally admitted what had happened during fall break when she'd gone to a party, a few weeks since she'd insisted her daughter get tested for STDs, HIV, and pregnancy. Everything had been negative, thank god, but her once-bubbly little girl was now almost silent – except when she was horribly blunt and forthright.

She had named her Hope because she was the last beacon of her former life, a life before her exile, when her fragile relationship with Harry Pearce might have yielded something so much more. Instead, she had been thrown out with the rubbish and lived the life of someone on the run. Hope had been a breath of fresh air, a delight and a joy for so long. It was difficult to put into words just how much of a treasure Hope was to her mother, but if she had to put a finger on it, Hope was the last reminder of just how good Harry's seductive skills really were.

"I love you," Ruth whispered. "And it's just you and me against the world, sweetheart." She rubbed Hope's back one more time and added, "Now, let's get you some of that cocoa before it gets cold."

Hope was a luxury feeling, not a necessity. Hope could be packed up and compartmentalized and done away with until it was time to remind one's self about how much had already been lost and just how little there was left to gain.

And Hope was her daughter, so fresh and fair, desperate to do good in the world but so frightened of her own shadow.

It was difficult to have any hope left, the world was so full of disaster and dismay.

Ruth wondered, briefly, if she ever saw Harry again, would he like what he saw? She wasn't the same woman who had left him alone on the docks – she was older, harder, colder. She had gone completely grey already and her face was lined heavily with worry and stress. Being on the lam did that to a person.

Hope flared to life in her heart, a tiny, flickering flame.

If he ever came to find her, she would be ready for him, ready to leave the nomadic existence behind. Ready to start over again.


	2. Chapter 2

2:

* * *

"You say the girl is fully qualified to baby-sit?" Harry asked, smearing butter and jam on Lucy's toast. "How exactly does one get 'fully qualified' for that?"

Catherine rolled her eyes and sighed. "People take CPR classes and first aid classes, and she's done both."

"And those are the only things you think are important?" he shot back. Lucy, god love her, was eating her egg and soldiers while cheerfully ignoring the adults. Preschool was still closed because of the weather, but the rest of the schools in the area were back for the morning, letting out at noon as the next round of snow rolled in. Catherine would basically be at work for homeroom and two classes before heading home for the day. Harry didn't envy her.

"Of course not, but she's proved herself very capable," Catherine protested, covering her chest with her arms defensively. "Speaking of watching Lucy… can you do it tomorrow night? I've got plans."

Harry grunted. "Surprisingly, so do I."

"You just got back – when did you have time to make plans?"

"I didn't. I bought these tickets in February," he sighed. "Box seats to Much Ado About Nothing. I bought all four so I could enjoy the play without my neighbors tittering around me." It had seemed like a good idea at the time. "What are your plans, then?"

"I'm going out to dinner, if you must know. With John Harris."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "Why?" He couldn't have sounded more irritated unless he'd said, "Why ever would you go out with that tit?"

"Because he asked me. And we've got class overlap and he's trying to figure out how to discipline a bunch of unruly teenagers that think they're the shit," Catherine muttered.

"Mommy, can I have a orange?" Lucy asked.

"Go ahead, darling," Catherine replied. "Dad, don't just sit there looking like a pissed off statue. Say something."

"Anything that I might say will be misconstrued as a verbal attack on that man." Harry was not pleased at all – if she had to have dinner with a colleague, did it really have to be that asswipe?

"Okay, so you don't approve – next?"

"Did it have to be that… that… piece of crap?"

"Wow, dad, I didn't think you had it in you to actually be offensive at the breakfast table – guess the joke's on me." She slammer her fork down on the table and added, "I'm not going to sleep with him if that's what you're implying I might do. Because, actually, I don't really care for him at all either, and if he hadn't asked for my help – nicely, for once, I might add – I wouldn't be going out at all. So thank you for treating me like I'm sixteen and sneaking out for a fag and a beer. Jesus. I am an adult, remember?"

Harry exhaled and looked down into his glass of juice. "Yes, I do remember." He deliberately kept his tone neutral and stopped trying to provoke her. "I'll give up my tickets and –"

"No, you should absolutely go to the play," Catherine said. "I'll just get Hope to come round."

He twitched a little; he still knew nothing about the Hope girl, nor her mother, and he didn't feel that enough inquiry had been made into either one to justify leaving his granddaughter with either woman for very long. "Did you at least –"

"Not everyone is an evil spy, hellbent on destroying civilization through your family, you paranoid git," Catherine countered. "She's fine, dad. I trust her."

"And her mother?"

Catherine shrugged. "Mary teaches French. She's a bona fide genius, dad. And she's raised Hope single-handed. I don't think we should judge her for her choices."

Harry rolled his eyes. "All right," he conceded. "But if I find any fault with the girl, she's done."

* * *

The walk from the subway station was exhausting. It had never occurred to Harry that he might need to actually change his casual routines since having his knee replaced, but it seemed laughable now that he was tired, sore, and frustrated that they lived three blocks from the 14th Street station. He was shuffling slowly past the alley between the apartment block next door and his brownstone when the shadows moved.

Even in the dim light, he recognized the light coat and ugly scarf. "Get off her, you hooligan," Harry snapped, turning down the alley, cane at the ready to knock some sense into the boy – stupid fucking teenager – that had his hands down Hope's pants. For her part, she seemed to be frozen in terror, not responding to anything the boy was doing. "I said, GET OFF," Harry roared, hitting the asshole little shit with his cane. "Get the fuck out of here before I call the police."

"Yeah, right, old man," the kid scoffed before he sauntered off with a smirk.

Hope was against the wall, shaking and breathing very erratically. Harry immediately cupped her cheek in his hand and drew her focus to him; her huge blue eyes were filled with tears and she stared right through him. "Breathe," Harry instructed gruffly. "Just try to breathe normally. You're going to be fine. Breathe, Hope."

She did as he asked until she'd collected herself and then she stammered, "I didn't – I was – I just left your house and he grabbed me and… and I just froze. I was so scared – so scared he was going to do it again and no one was going to help me –"

"Again?" His voice sounded hollow, tinny. "He's done this to you before?"

She tried to pull away from him, and he let her, knowing full well that if he interfered, she would quite probably get hostile and defensive. "I don't know why I should tell you. You're a stranger."

"Yes, well… I did hit a young jackanape with my cane to defend you," he pointed out.

"You should've aimed for his balls," Hope muttered. "I've got to get home before mom wonders where I am."

"You shouldn't be walking around alone," Harry said. "Let me walk you home." He paused. "Unless you want to go to the police station to file a report – in which case, let me take you there."

"No," Hope said, shaking her head hard. "I want to go home." She carefully fixed her clothes and mumbled, "Thank you. I'm sorry – I know you were ready to go home and go to bed."

He sighed. "No, not at all – thank goodness you're all right, though. Shall I explain to your mother –"

Hope shook her head hard. "No. I'll tell her. She'll be angry enough."

"Then maybe I can calm her –"

Hope shook her head and fell into step with Harry. Even though he walked slowly, she was much shorter than he was and she took two steps for his every one. "She has a tendency to overreact just a little," Hope said.

"Just a little?"

"Nuclear," the girl confessed. They slipped into silence until they stopped at a building on Nineteenth. "This is me."

"I really do feel that I need to see you safely to your door," Harry said firmly. If for no other reason than to assuage his own feelings of helplessness.

"Oh, fine," Hope muttered, unlocking the lobby door with a key. "Come on, then – we're on fifteen."

Once they stepped off the elevator, Harry said, "Are you trying to prevent me from meeting your mother?"

"Maybe, a little," Hope mumbled.

"Because you think we'll not get on."

"Because I think you'll make a bad situation worse. Thank you for bringing me home. Tell Catherine she can ask me to baby-sit whenever." Hope unlocked the apartment door and disappeared inside.

Harry jammed his hands inside his coat pocket and debated with himself for a long time before he turned back to the elevator. He was getting tired and he was definitely not as young as he'd been; he needed to get home and to bed before his alarm went off and he had to go about getting Lucy ready for preschool.

He had just made it back down to the lobby, stepping out of the elevator, when he abruptly changed his mind and rode it back up to the fifteenth floor. He could hear muffled voices inside the apartment and he hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door.

He wasn't expecting the door to be flung open with such gusto. "Yes?" came a clipped voice.

Harry stared at her for a long moment, his mouth suddenly dry, his lips forgetting how to make words, his knees going weak. It was her – wasn't it? Older, scarred, grey haired and… but it was her. It had to be her. Recognition flashed in her eyes, then the door all but slammed in his face.

It took a few seconds for his hand to catch up with his brain, his fist colliding with the door roughly, pounding with desperation. "Please," he said.

The door opened again, and she had closed her dressing gown, run her fingers through her hair, and was looking a little less wild. "It is you, isn't it?" she said very softly.

"Of course it's me – but is it…?"

"Sixteen years." The words were bitter.

"It isn't as if I didn't try to –"

"Did you?"

Hope said, "Mom, stop being rude and let him in."

"I don't think so – you and I both have school in the morning," she snapped. "It's far too late for this kind of serious conversation –"

"Meet me tomorrow night for dinner," Harry forced out. "Your choice where – I don't care. But somewhere we can talk."

"How about Chelsea Market?" she suggested.

He nodded and reached out to take her hand, but she refused to give it to him. Frowning, he added, "How about I meet you at the south entrance by the crepe place at five?"

"Six," she corrected. "I've got staff meeting at four."

"Six, then," Harry said softly. "I never thought –"

"I should've hidden better." With that, the door slammed in his face again.

* * *

Ruth turned and looked at her daughter. "Do you mind telling me just exactly how you managed to be rescued by Harry Pearce?" she inquired icily.

"He's Catherine's dad," Hope said very quietly.

It took a moment for Ruth to regain her composure, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was staving off a headache. "I knew we've been in one place too long. If he can find us, what about…" Her voice trailed off. "We need to start packing now. We'll leave on Monday."

Hope sat up in alarm. "No, mommy, we just – we just got settled for real!"

"I have to protect you," Ruth said firmly. "It's time to go."

"Is this because of him – because of Harry?"

"No, it's because of Jason fucking Donovan. He's not going to stop and I don't have the strength to fight him off," Ruth said, leaning against the door. "Harry Pearce doesn't mean anything anymore," she lied.

"But you know him."

"Knew him."

"From London? Before you had to run away?"

Ruth sighed heavily and rubbed her eyes. "Yes."

Hope didn't accept that simple answer, she just kept pushing. "Is he the one you left London because of?" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Is he my… is he my dad?"

"It doesn't matter," Ruth said. "We're leaving on Monday, end of discussion. We'll go south – I hear Georgia is pretty."

When push came to shove, Hope's safety trumped everything else. It didn't matter that Ruth was ready to jump straight back into Harry's arms, it didn't matter that he still looked at her with such reverent love and desire… all that mattered was keeping Hope safe. And if that meant far away from the shithole apartment, the groping teenagers, the… far away from Harry… so be it.

Ruth closed her eyes to hold back tears.

There was another knock on the door behind her back. Ruth opened it; of course he was still standing there. "Is she mine?" was all he asked.

She was conflicted; if forced, would he try to sue her for parental rights? Would he try to take Hope away from her? Would he accept the truth? In the end, she settled for, "I don't owe you an explanation."

"No, but you owe me the dignity of the truth."

She took a deep breath, then exhaled quickly. "Fine. Yes. Are you happy now?"

He shook his head. She didn't have the time to react, to prepare, when his hand came around the back of her neck, pulling her into a kiss.

"Holy crap," Hope gasped in the background.

Dazed, Ruth stared up at him as he ended the kiss. "Tomorrow," Harry said. "We'll talk tomorrow."

And then he was gone, shuffling down the corridor back to the elevator. Ruth closed the door and turned to meet the curious, probing gaze of her daughter. "Yes, he's the reason I left England," she finally said.

"He's my father," Hope said with dead certainty.

All Ruth could do was nod.


	3. Chapter 3

3:

* * *

It was difficult to sit on his hands in regard to the Ruth situation. Harry didn't sleep very well, so he was grumpy and irritable at breakfast, and he was even more so when he dropped Lucy off at preschool. He went home and sent off a few rapid-fire emails with his former team on the Grid, asking if he were to find Ruth Evershed, exactly how much trouble would she be in, how difficult it would be to clear her name and redact the records after this length of time, etc. And he took a fucking nap before it was time to go pick Lucy up for the afternoon.

By the time he was splashing on aftershave and adjusting his tie to get ready to go meet her at Chelsea Market, Harry had definitely had time to calm down and relax. Of course, all he could really think about was how beautiful she still was. Time hadn't been so kind to him, but she was like music to his soul. He wondered briefly if she would be offended if he asked about the scars on her face, but then decided that it didn't matter.

In the bigger scheme of things, that didn't matter at all.

What mattered was that he had found her – Ruth, his Ruth, the other half of his soul that had been wrenched away… he'd found her again. That thought both made him giddy with joy and fraught with panic. And Hope…

Hope was his child.

No child of his should ever have pink hair, he decided. It just wasn't done. He would mention it to Ruth, and maybe that would be an end to it.

He took extra pains to look nice – no polo shirt and jeans like normal, no, he was in a nice crisp burgundy shirt, gold patterned tie, and a grey cardigan. He wanted to show her that he really still was Harry-of-the-Grid, no matter how many years went by.

"Hot date?" Catherine asked, grinning over his shoulder into the mirror.

"If you must know, I'm meeting a former colleague from Five," Harry muttered, making a face as he checked to make certain he was clean-shaven and hadn't missed a spot. "So I cannot look like I've spent the afternoon baking jam biscuits."

"Speaking of, those cooking classes you've been taking have really paid off – those jam biscuits are delicious. Maybe you could bring your friend around and stuff them full of them."

He laughed nervously. "I'm not certain she would appreciate that very much."

"She?" Catherine perked up. "So this really is a date, isn't it?"

"You can meet up with old friends and not call it a date," Harry sighed. "Not everything is about sex."

"Oh, I know it." She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Well, you get my seal of approval. You look quite dashing, dad."

His control wavered for a moment, then he said, "You know I haven't seen anyone socially since Ruth."

"It's about time you started," Catherine replied. "I know you loved her and all, but… it's been sixteen years, dad."

"It's been almost six for you," he pointed out.

"Yeah, I've got time yet. You, not so much." She gave him a hug and retreated. "Have a good time, don't do anything I wouldn't do – and try to remember your diet before you put back on all the weight you've managed to lose chasing my kid."

"I'll behave," Harry promised. "We're meeting at the Market – do you want me to pick up some fresh fruit and veg?"

"Oh, that would be great, dad – and maybe some of that watermelon and mint juice?" Catherine grinned at him.

"You know I can't resist a good juice," he teased, glancing at his watch. "I'd better get going or I'll be late."

He strolled leisurely to Chelsea Market, enjoying the cold evening air. He was getting used to the cane, and it didn't feel quite so much like a hinderance anymore. He waited outside the south entrance of the Market, hoping he didn't look too nervous. He politely held the door for anyone coming in, hoping that Ruth would hurry up and get there.

At six thirty, he was just about to give up when he saw her jogging up to meet him. "Sorry I'm late – don't ask," she breathed. "I hope you haven't been waiting outside in the cold all this time, Harry."

"I'm fine," he said, the corner of his mouth twisting into a touch of a smirk. "Late as usual."

"I'll have you know, I'm usually pretty punctual," she said, taking his arm. "Now, dinner. I've got to bring something back for Hope – she likes the taco place."

"I've got to bring back some produce for Catherine," he said.

A small smile crept onto her lips. "I feel stupid for not realizing before now," Ruth said as they went inside. It was a large crush of people and it took a while to get their food and find somewhere comfortable to sit. But once they were part-way into their meal, Ruth cleared her throat and said, "We're leaving on Monday."

His eyebrows leapt into his hairline. "Why?"

"Because we've been here three years, and that's too long for two people who are trying to evade a ring of spies that are trying to kill them," Ruth said, smiling sadly.

"Ruth, it might surprise you to know that no one is looking for you – but me. And, somehow, miracle of miracles, I've found you when I was about to give up all hope." He reached across the table and took her hand in his. "I've been in contact with Five via email today and we can reinstate your identity and get your passport and everything –"

She shook her head. "What's done is done, Harry. I got chewed up and spit out."

He took a deep breath. "Maybe so, but you don't have to run anymore, do you? Not now." It hurt him, shocked him to the core, that she would so callously run away from him.

"Harry, it's very hard to take you seriously when you've got a bit of sauce dripping down your lip," Ruth sighed, reaching over to swipe at him with a paper napkin. "Remember that time we got Chinese takeaway and I…"

"Kissed my errant sauce away," he finished for her, his tone softening. "Ruth, please don't leave. Not now, not when we've just found one another again. Three weeks together was enough to know that I would never want anyone else the rest of my life."

"I have to do what's best for Hope."

He flinched; ah, yes, there was the rub. Misguided maternal protectiveness, directed straight at him with all the force of a nuclear missile. "Have you told her yet?"

"That you're her father? She might have guessed last night when you shoved your tongue down my throat." Ruth finished her vegan sushi burrito and sighed. "Harry… I'm all she's ever had. I can't just throw you at her and go, 'play happy families'."

* * *

He looked like she'd just slapped him. Ruth took a mental step back and closed her eyes for a long moment. "I'm sorry, that was… uncouth of me," she said softly.

"No, I'm surprised: it was very truthful and I hadn't thought very much about how much this will affect Hope." Harry looked down into his drink and sighed. "I was just so glad to see you, I just thundered in like an elephant."

"You look very nice tonight, by the way," she murmured. He was fitter since retiring, and the change had done him good. He looked very swanky in that kind of way that made her want to tear off her knickers and show him a hell of a good time – god knows she hadn't felt that urge in years. The last time had been just a couple of days before her exile had begun. It had been a hell of a three weeks between Havensworth and that boat taking her away. "Very debonair."

"Catherine thought so, too," Harry said. "Wished me good luck on my date."

"What did you tell her?"

"That I was meeting an old friend from Five. The truth." He looked back up at her. "Ruth…"

"Mary. I go by Mary now."

"You are Ruth to me," he said softly, reaching over to touch her cheek. She flinched, pulling back, unwilling to let him have that part of her yet. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –"

She inhaled deeply, pushing back the pain. She'd been captured by MI-6 agents in Italy early in her exile, tortured for information, her face superficially cut to ribbons on one side. She'd just discovered that she was pregnant and it had been a hell of a time getting away from them and giving them the slip again, but she'd managed to do it. Once she'd healed, the scars were a badge of honor: she had survived and learned not to take anything for granted again. "Not your fault," Ruth said.

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind about leaving?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I got served an eviction notice, due next month. I'd have to find somewhere to go anyway. Now's a good time."

"Why are you being evicted?"

She shrugged. "They're bringing the whole building down and putting up luxury condos instead," Ruth said. "So, you see…"

"We've got room," Harry said. "We've got four empty bedrooms – you're welcome to them. It's my house: Catherine pays utilities and things and I take care of the taxes."

"I couldn't."

"Forgive me for being selfish right now," he said, his face morphing profoundly into sadness, "but I don't want to lose you again before we've found one another properly, Ruth. Before we can give this – us – a chance."

"It's not just about us anymore, Harry," Ruth sighed. "We have a daughter. I have to do what's best for her." It had been a long time since she'd wanted to do anything selfish, but right now, all she wanted to do was take Harry home with her and shag him senseless until they were both spent. But with Hope in the equation, she couldn't even contemplate it.

"I would never ask you to do anything but that," Harry said quietly. "Just think about it, though – I can't believe for a second that you want to leave everything behind again and start all over."

She looked down at her fingers, twisting her napkin nervously. "No, I'm not exactly eager for that," she murmured.

He stood up and held out a hand. "Walk with me – let's do the shopping and take Hope her dinner." It was simple, it was plain, it was elegant. She took his hand and held it as they walked around the Market, making purchases. He had a shoulder bag for his, and she carried Hope's tacos in a paper bag.

It was enjoyable, just being with him again. Who knew that they would just be able to pick up right where they'd left off so long ago?

He walked her home, then awkward silence descended. "Should I go up and say hi?" Harry asked.

"No, she's… worried that you'll think less of her because of what happened last night," Ruth said softly. "But I'll tell her you said hello."

"Ruth, I know I am not… exactly emotionally effusive," Harry began, "but I love you and have done for quite a number of years. And if you run away, I will use what little clout I have left with the intelligence community to hunt you down – and then I will make sure you never get away again."

She cracked a smile and said, "If it was just me, I'd have you upstairs right now and we'd be fucking on the futon."

"Ruth!"

She had the decency to blush a little. "All right, well… how about this? I will think seriously about your offer to move in. But the problem with Hope and the captain of the football team isn't going to go away so easily as my eviction."

"Next time," Harry said, "I will break him like an egg." There was something hard and predatory about that remark, like the old, blood-thirsty Harry brought back from the dead. He paused, then cleared his throat. "May I kiss you good-night, Ruth?"

She nodded and, oh, lordy, that kiss – oh, that kiss…

She actually wobbled as she let herself into the building. Like a fucking teenager, she wobbled.

She took the elevator ride to calm down, bringing herself back to center and relaxing for Hope's benefit. "Hi, baby, I brought your tacos," Ruth called as she stepped into the apartment. She wasn't expecting to find Hope curled up into a little ball in the bed, sound asleep. She sat down beside her daughter and stroked her back, wishing she could make it all better.

Hope, Harry, Cotterdam, the whole lot.

She just wanted something good, something pure, something untainted and lovely.

It was difficult to keep smiling when the whole world was throwing shit at you.


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry for the delay: some crazy stuff popped up at work, so I've not exactly been in a frame of mind to write.

* * *

4:

* * *

"Mary and Hope are being evicted," Catherine said Sunday morning during breakfast. "I hope you don't mind, dad, but I offered them our extra rooms to stay in till they can find somewhere else."

Harry glanced up from his waffle covered in rhubarb and ginger preserves and raised an eyebrow. "I don't mind, but… they are practically strangers," he said, controlling his voice to remain even and calm, even though his heartbeat was racing with adrenaline and panic.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "Dad…"

"Do you at least know if either of them have food allergies or anything we should be aware of before we begin sharing a living space?" he challenged.

"Hope's 'lergic to shwimps," Lucy spoke up.

"Well, then I'll have to stop cooking shrimp," Harry said, chucking Lucy on the chin. "Catherine, did you really think I would be cross about you offering a home to your friend? Am I really that bad of a man?"

"No, but you do tend to overreact just a little," Catherine sighed. "Always leaping to worst case scenario, that kind of thing."

"Has she given you an answer yet?" he asked, willing his fingers to stop clenching his fork so tightly – alas, they weren't listening to him at all, and his knuckles were practically white.

"She said she wants to talk to you first, make sure it's okay and that kind of a thing – she's coming by later," Catherine said. "And you'd better not be a pillock about it. You will treat her with respect, if nothing else."

"I will treat her with the utmost respect," Harry agreed.

"Good – Lucy and I will go out while you two are talking, and then I can finish marking papers this afternoon, if you can keep Lucy occupied," Catherine said decisively. "I think you'll like Mary. I really do. Maybe not as much as your precious Ruth, but… she's good, steady, dependable."

"Are you suggesting that I might be inclined to take advantage of your colleague in my own home?" Harry asked, feigning horror. "Absolutely not." He had the feeling that Ruth would be pushing him away anyhow; she'd been very good at putting distance between them, both literally and figuratively, for a damn long time.

"I'm just saying – look, she met Hope's dad as a one-night stand when she was running from the bastard that did her face in. She's been living in a hopeless fantasy that he was the best thing she was ever going to have in her life, and she's never given anyone a chance. So, if she decides to give you a chance… maybe I'm just saying that you shouldn't necessarily stop it. You deserve to feel something for someone else, too, dad – someone who's alive."

He exhaled heavily. "You just… mind your own love life," Harry warned softly. He glanced over at Lucy, who was watching him raptly, having just finished her waffle. "Hey, now, are you finished, sweetheart? Shall we go get you cleaned up so you can play?"

"Pwease, granpa," Lucy said.

Harry took her to the bathroom and got her cleaned up. Once she was settled with a movie and her dolls in the living room, he went back to finish his breakfast in a couple of quick mouthfuls. Catherine was doing the dishes when the doorbell rang. "That'll be her!" Catherine called. "I'll be there in a minute, or –"

"No, I've got it, I've got it," Harry said, punching the intercom. "Hello, I'll be down in a minute," he said into the speaker.

"Oh, all right – I'll… I'll just wait here, then."

He hid a smile and took the stairs slowly. When he opened the door, she was standing on the stoop, windblown, rosy-cheeked, and absolutely gorgeous. She bit her lip, and he smiled. "Welcome," he said softly. "I hope this means –"

"I have conditions," Ruth said, "but yes."

"Conditions."

"The first of which being that you personally have to guarantee our safety."

His smile grew. "You've made me the happiest man –"

"The second is that we can't have that kind of relationship anymore."

His smile vanished, his heart sinking into the floor. "But –"

"I can't, Harry."

He exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. "Won't you come in, Mary?" he asked, trying to regain his equilibrium. "Please? I'm sure there are a couple of waffles left, if you're hungry."

"It's not that I don't love you – because I do, god, I do," she whispered. "It's… everything. Harry, it's everything. We can't just pick up where we left off – it's impossible."

"I'll tell you what's impossible: finding you in a city of millions of people purely by chance," he said softly, reaching out to caress her scarred cheek. "Nothing else is impossible, Ruth. Nothing."

"You can't call me that."

"Why not? They're in the process of restoring your identity even as we speak. You will be a free woman again," he promised. A sour thought hit him between the eyes. "But what you'd want with an old washed-up spook like me, I don't know." Obviously, she was trying to let him down easy.

She was shaking with the cold; he pulled her inside and helped her take her coat off and hang it up. When he turned back toward her, she stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him soundly, surprising him. "Everything, Harry – I want everything with you," Ruth breathed, then pulled away.

"Miss Smif, Miss Smif, hiya!" Lucy cried, thundering down the stairs. "Mommy an me gonna go shoppin'. Granpa, be nice to Miss Smif – I love her."

Catherine was standing at the top of the stairs, watching with great interest as Harry helped Lucy into her coat and snowboots. "Hello, Mary," she greeted with a smile. "I hope my dad wasn't being too rude."

"Not at all," Ruth murmured. "He's been a gentleman."

"Good," Catherine said, coming down the stairs and grabbing her coat. "We'll just be out getting little miss some new shoes, if you need us."

Harry nodded and closed the door behind them. It was almost too much, the sudden strain of pretending to be two people again – the spook, hiding everything behind a stoic mask, and the man, bursting with excitement that his lover was back within reach. "Ruth, I… I'm glad you're going to stay here for now," he said softly.

"Hope wants… she wants to get to know you. She can't do that if we're running away."

"Ruth, I –"

"I haven't been Ruth for a very long time."

"Mary," he began, but the word was foreign and wrong on his tongue. "I want to know our daughter better – of course, I do – but I cannot help but feel that you're using her as a reason to not reopen our relationship."

"Our relationship is complicated."

"Our relationship is simple: I love you, you love me. We have a child together. The rest of it doesn't matter anymore. Our history is just that – history. We bumbled and stumbled and finally made something of it – and if Cotterdam hadn't happened, we would have raised that girl together. I would have married you and left the service to protect you and my daughter. Do you doubt for a moment that I could love you that much?"

"Words, words, words," she said, looking pained at his confession. "Harry, I – you don't know, you have no idea –"

"Then tell me, Ruth."

"I don't know where to start."

"Let's go up to the kitchen and I'll make some tea," he said softly. "And then you can start at the beginning."

* * *

_But which beginning_? She wondered bitterly as he puttered about, making tea for them both. The beginning as in Cotterdam? Or the beginning of her exile? Or… the day she found out that she was pregnant – and then was caught by Six in an immigration sting.

It sounded so much worse in hindsight.

He set a mug of tea down in front of her. "No sugar, splash of milk," he said. She looked up at him in surprise, and his smile turned smug. "Of course I remember how the woman I love takes her tea."

"You still love me after… after all this time? After this?" she gestured vaguely at her face. It disgusted her every time she looked in the mirror, the physical representation of her pain and suffering, and she didn't understand why he didn't hate her for it.

"They're just scars, Ruth," he said softly. "You've seen mine before."

"You can hide yours," she pointed out sadly.

"Tell me what happened," he whispered, reaching over the table to stroke her cheek. "Please."

"I was in Italy – Florence," she sighed. "I just… got sick one day, sicker than I've ever been in my life before or since. I couldn't keep food down for a week, could barely drink water… it got so bad that my neighbor took me to hospital when I fainted on the stairs." She looked down into her cup of tea and frowned. "Turns out, I was four months pregnant – and had a really bad case of food poisoning from some tainted seafood." She drummed her fingers on the mug and bit her lip. "Of course, I had no insurance details and something in my papers twigged and… I was extracted from hospital by a team from Six."

"Shit," Harry spat.

"I was with them almost a week before I got away, but it was long enough for Oliver Mace to show up and redecorate my face," she mumbled. "I'm not safe from him, Harry – no matter how much you want to believe –"

"He's dead," Harry said quietly. "You are safe, Ruth. Oliver Mace cannot hurt you again."

"I don't believe you."

He took her hand and held it. "I was there when he died, Ruth. The man is dead. I promise you that."

She looked up at him for a long moment, then away again. "After I got out of Florence, I realized I needed to get away from Europe – so I… I did something stupid. I contacted Zoe. Yes, I know, don't look at me like that – I needed somewhere safe to stay till the baby was born. I went to Chile and stayed with Zoe and Will until Hope was about six months old, then there were officers on the street and I was terrified they were going to find me again. They got a passport for Hope – I don't know how – and we left for Los Angeles. My face was still a mangled mess, but… we were safe for a while."

"And you've been in the United States ever since?"

She nodded. "The scars are distinctive. I was scared to go back to Europe. I figured… maybe CIA cover was my best option. They're very fierce when needs must."

Harry nodded. "Shall I tell you about Mace?"

"Is he really dead?"

"Yes," Harry said softly. "From time to time, I'm recalled to London to assist with a case. Last year, Oliver Mace was stirring the pot and got himself implicated in a plot to overthrow the government – which good old Section D managed to foil, thank god – and I was tasked with the most difficult job of them all."

She looked up at him, then took a swig of tea. "You killed him."

"Poison," he confirmed. "I watched him die, and then I went back to Thames House and told Malcolm to start looking for you."

"You shouldn't be telling me any of this."

"I don't care – I lost you because of the service and I'll be damned if I sit back and just let it happen again," he said decisively.

She licked her lips, then whispered, "He told me… when he cut my face, Mace told me that he was going to make it so you'd never want me again."

"Stupid man," Harry muttered. "His mistake was in thinking that he could ever touch my affection for you. It's locked in a little box in my heart and it doesn't bloody just change because he cut your face. Do you understand me, Ruth? Do you understand?"

She nodded and smiled slightly. "I do. I keep you locked in my head, always telling me that I'm a born spook and I'm so good – and that you love me." _Something wonderful that was never said_… But now, the words were so loud and so strong as to nearly knock them both down.

"I love you, and it costs me nothing to say it," he said firmly. "A few years ago, it would have cost my soul and my sanity – but now…" He paused and thought for a moment. "What have you told Hope about me?"

She looked away again and took a deep breath. "I told her that her father was a good, kind man who loved her very much – but we couldn't be with him because it wasn't safe."

His face fell, and she felt guilty to the core. "I'm sorry, Ruth – I'm so sorry you had to go through all of this alone."

"Oh, Harry… I was never alone," she whispered. "I always had Hope."

"It should have been me out there –"

"Harry, no," she said. "No, we can't play the regrets game now – I would bury you in a heartbeat. Let's just… let's just thank our lucky stars that the universe decided to let us have a little reprieve." She reached over and took his hand, holding it tightly.

"We'll have to tell Catherine. She's not going to be happy."

"No, she isn't," Ruth murmured. "Especially if she thinks I'm going to take you away from her – and Lucy. Which is not my intention, at all."

"I never thought for a moment that it was," he said, rubbing his thumb on the back of her hand in idle circles. "Do you know that my heart nearly stopped the other night when I saw you? My heart nearly stopped beating, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think – everything just shorted out, and I thought I was hallucinating. Or dreaming. Because there you were and – god, do you even know how beautiful you are, Ruth?"

"Only when you tell me," she breathed.

He shifted his chair, never breaking contact with her hand, until he could lean in and kiss her. It was a tame kiss, almost chaste, but it was so pure and sweet that tears began to trickle down her cheeks. She opened her lips slightly, inviting more from him, and soon they were kissing with all of the passion they'd saved up over the years.

She finally pulled out of the fevered kisses and whispered, "Harry… they'll be home soon and I need to go –"

His breathing was heavy, slow, almost painful to hear, and she knew he was struggling to maintain control. "Will you begin moving tomorrow? I can have beds bought and delivered –"

"Beds? We've got a futon already –"

"Leave it," he instructed. "Leave anything behind that doesn't bring you happiness, Ruth. It's time you begin to live for yourself."

She shook her head, leaning into his warm embrace. "I have to think about Hope –"

"Darling, _we_ have to think about Hope," he corrected gently. "It's not just you out on that wall now, sweetheart."

She had never in her life loved him any more than she did in that moment.


	5. Chapter 5

5:

* * *

Catherine was enjoying five minutes of quiet with a cup of coffee when Mary sat down beside her on the battered old sofa in the teachers' lounge. "We need to talk," Mary said.

"Are you and my dad going to be able to get along? I know he's… difficult, but it comes from his line of work and –"

Mary shushed her with a gesture. "I know. We'll be fine."

"What's the problem?"

Mary glanced around quickly, then decided they weren't going to be overheard by the other teachers in the room. "The problem is that… well, to be fair, it isn't so much lying to you as obscuring the truth a little bit in order to – shit, I'm bollocksing this whole thing up," she mumbled, shaking her head and putting it in her hands.

"I really don't have a clue what's happening right now," Catherine said, "but whatever it is, it sounds pretty bad."

"I don't want you to explode or make a scene."

"Okaaay… wait, don't tell me you've slept with my dad. He was practically the Shagmaster General in the 90's…."

Mary's lips were set into a grim, tight line. "I worked for MI-5, in your father's section," she said.

Catherine had just taken a sip of coffee and it was all she could do not to choke on it. "Bloody hell, warn a girl, won't you?" she gasped. "You were a spook? You worked with dad?"

Mary's face was pale, grey around the edges. "I did things that I'm not proud of, Catherine, and when we became friends, you have to believe me when I say that I had no idea who your father was and I had no idea that –" She shook her head. "There was an operation that went pear-shaped. It was a set-up, and it came down to your father and I as to who would take the blame and leave. Obviously, an analyst cannot save Britain, but your father could – so I… confessed to a crime I didn't commit, faked my own suicide, and went into exile."

Catherine blinked. "Ruth. You're Ruth," she whispered. "You're dad's Ruth –"

"He's told you, then?"

"Only because I got him drunk when he was really down," Catherine said quietly. "Oh my god, does he know –"

"I'm the one he met the other night," Mary murmured. "Of course he knows."

Catherine's mind was racing, turning facts over and over again. "No, I mean – does he know – Hope –"

Mary sighed and crossed her arms defensively over her chest. "He knows that he fathered my child, yes. I could hardly not tell him that." She glanced over at Catherine. "Are you going to make a scene?"

Catherine shook her head. "Not here."

"But you're going to make one eventually."

"Wouldn't you?"

Mary exhaled and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I am. I couldn't tell you anything –"

"What's changed now?"

"They're bringing me back to life. I'll be free to be Ruth Evershed again and… I can stop lying to the people I care about. My friends, my daughter… your father."

"Are you going to pick up where you left off? You know, he intended to marry you –"

"We aren't the same people we were," Mary said. "There was a time I would've done anything your father asked me to – and now… now, I have to think long and hard about what's best for Hope."

"My sister," Catherine said very quietly, the words foreign in her mouth. "Did he know that you were pregnant when you left?"

Mary shook her head. "He never would have let me leave if either of us had known." There was something infinitely sad in her eyes, and Catherine couldn't help but feel compassion toward her. This woman had lost everything and couldn't fathom that she'd just been given it all back – with interest.

"He's never stopped caring for you," Catherine said. "And I know part of him is thrilled beyond measure to have you coming to live with us – and there's an equal part of him that's terrified of you being there and seeing it all day in and day out. He's not the same man he was when he came to live with us after my husband died. Dad has… well, I'd like to think he's changed for the better."

"He has," Mary agreed. "Which is why I won't rush into anything with him. He deserves better than me. Always has done." She smiled wanly. "We're bringing some things over tonight, and the rest tomorrow. I guess we'll need house keys and… I don't know."

"Dad's sorting everything," Catherine sighed. "He's always so… bossy. Forceful. How did you learn to like that?"

Mary smiled a little. "Oh, I don't know… he was always very demanding with me. Unless we were alone, and then he backed off, took it slowly, like he was afraid of me."

"He doesn't know how to show love for other people – or, rather, he didn't," Catherine sighed. "It took Lucy to sort him out."

"We shouldn't confuse Lucy any more than we have to," Mary finally said after a long silence. "She doesn't need to know anything more than that we're staying."

"Then Hope can't call him anything other than Harry," Catherine warned. "Lucy isn't stupid – she's very perceptive."

"I'm sorry, Catherine, I really am – that this is going to be so… so… awkward."

"Yeah, well, it only became awkward when you stopped lying to me," Catherine said with a sardonic smile. "I've got to get back. So do you. I'll see you tonight."

* * *

"The other new bed won't be delivered until Saturday," Harry said, "but I can sleep on the sofa in the living room."

"No, I'm not going to turn you out of your room –"

He smiled and leaned in to give Ruth a kiss. "Don't you fret. I fall asleep on the sofa most nights anyway. The stairs are a bit of a bear, to be honest, and if we had a bedroom on one of the lower levels, I'd prefer it. It won't be anything new, Ruth. And when the new bed is delivered, we can shift things."

"I told Catherine the truth about us," Ruth said softly.

His smile faded. "Yes, I know. We had… words."

"I asked her not to make a scene at work."

"She made quite the scene here," he said wryly. "Not that I can blame her. I am a bit of a shit, a philandering cad, and everything else that she said I was. Except a coward. I refute cowardice." His frown increased and he leaned against the bedpost wearily.

"Harry Pearce could never be a coward," Ruth murmured, setting her bag on the bed. They'd already put the books and things in the room that was to be Hope's, and set Hope about getting a shower and getting ready for bed. He was exhausted just from going up and down the stairs so much, but he was attempting to put a brave face on it. "But he might have to think about getting a chair lift installed so he doesn't hurt himself going up and down the stairs."

"That's a special kind of cowardice," he grunted. "Right up there with not pursuing everything I've ever wanted in my life." He leveled his gaze at her, and she blushed and looked away. There she was, hiding behind all those walls… and he was madly, hopelessly in love with the dream of holding her in his arms again.

She didn't meet his gaze, and kind of shuffled her feet, shifting her weight. "It's going to be so weird for us for a while – Hope and I have never been apart in different rooms before," Ruth said softly. "Let alone separate beds. I've always tried to keep her close, in case something happened."

He knew exactly what she meant, had not so unsubtly watched her as she'd slid a pistol into the nightstand. It was going to take a while for her to understand that they were as safe as they could possibly be. "Of course," Harry said. "Look, I should probably go downstairs and get ready for bed. Just yell if you need anything – I'll be right by the kitchen."

"I'll be fine," she said softly. "You shouldn't worry about me."

"But I do – every day, I worry about you," he whispered, gently lifting her chin so she would just look at him for a bloody moment. "Ruth, please, don't just… don't push me away."

She pulled away from him and whispered, "Things aren't that simple, Harry. None of this is simple."

"I didn't say it was. But I need you to understand that there are people in this world who care about you and I am one of them. Don't push me away – I'm only trying to help." His frustration was rising, but he was doing his best to keep it clamped down. No need to scare her off with a badly timed fit of pique.

"I know you are," she muttered. "I'm just tired. Thank you for your help, Harry. Sleep well."

He smiled a little, taking her dismissal seriously. He spent the next few minutes going from room to room, checking on his little flock. Lucy was sound asleep, clutching a stuffed giraffe. Catherine was sitting up in bed, marking papers. And Hope's light was off, the door closed.

Harry knocked lightly. "Everything okay in there?"

A stifled sob was his only response.

"Hope, may I come in?"

There was no answer, only a miserable moan. He tried the handle, pleased to find she hadn't locked the door, and opened the door. She was lying on the carpeted floor in a little ball, crying and shaking like a small child.

Harry immediately knelt beside her on the floor and began stroking her back. "Hush, now," he said softly, "it's not that bad, is it?"

"I want my mama," Hope choked out miserably. "But she doesn't want me anymore – she told me I have to have my own room now and my own bed and – and – it's not okay and it's not fair. It's not fair."

"Shh, it's a big adjustment," Harry soothed. "I know, and I'm sorry –"

"She wants to sleep with you now." The bitterness in the girl's tone was unmistakable. "She doesn't want me anymore because she has you."

"That isn't true," Harry said firmly.

"Yes, it is – she told me so."

"What did your mum tell you?" Harry asked softly.

"That she's always loved you and she wants to be with you – and for that to happen, I need to grow up and sleep by myself." Hope's voice was angry and full of seething hatred. "It's not fair."

"No, it isn't," he agreed. "Life isn't fair. But it isn't right for your mum to push you away because of me, either. She can love us both equally, Hope. I'm sorry: I didn't mean to come between you and your mum."

"Didn't you?" she challenged.

"No, never. I would never want to hurt you – or your mother."

"You didn't know about me – how could you possibly care?" Hope shot back.

"You're my daughter," he said simply. "You are a part of me and a part of your mother – hopefully, the best parts of both of us – and what we did to create you was love, plain and simple. I love you because of that, Hope. Because you are you."

"I want my mama," she whimpered again.

"Then go to her, sweetheart – she's right down the corridor, the last door on the left."

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry –"

"No, no, don't apologize," Harry murmured. "It's a tall order, sleeping in a new place for the first time. I'm sorry I pushed you." They helped each other up off the floor and he gently patted her hair down from it's spikiness. "Why pink?" he asked.

"Why not?" Hope said. "It's my favorite color. It makes me happy."

"But in your hair? Doesn't it make it so you stand out more?"

"It's just my hair," she said defensively. "You don't like it."

"It isn't that I don't like it, I just don't think it's very appropriate."

There was a beat of quiet, then she said, "Okay. I'll let it wash out and I won't let mom dye it again."

He paused. "Really?"

"You're my dad. I have to do what you want."

She walked away, leaving Harry to feel like he'd just stepped into a bear trap.

* * *

Ruth held Hope until she'd cried herself to sleep. It was hard, and getting harder, to comfort her night after night, losing sleep and trying to hold herself back from destroying the boy that had wanted to destroy her daughter. But still, she did it. Night after night, she held Hope.

They hadn't been apart since Hope was born, and it showed.

Yes, it was cruel, trying to break the tie between them and attempting to get the teenager to sleep in her own bed, and yes, she had said things she knew would come back to bite her on the ass. But it was necessary – it was needed.

Once she was certain Hope was asleep, Ruth got up and put on her slippers, retreating downstairs quietly. The TV was on, the last few minutes of the news merging into one of the late night talk shows, and Harry's light snoring adding to the soundtrack.

She went into the kitchen and rooted around until she'd found the glasses, and got water from the fridge. She took a sip and looked around, wondering for the first time how and why Harry had come to be here, had come to find himself in New York. There had never been a burgeoning sense of Atlanticism on his part, so it made no sense.

The snoring stopped and the recliner snapped closed with the twang of springs being compressed. It was only a couple of minutes before he shuffled into the kitchen. "Do you need anything?" Harry asked sleepily. "I need my pain pills."

"Your knee?"

He nodded and dug around in a cupboard, finally retrieving pills that he threw back dry. She offered him her water, and he took a grateful sip, then returned it. "Sorry, that was – that was rude."

"She's asleep, finally," Ruth said softly. "She cried and cried and kept saying she screwed everything up with you, and I told her to stop talking bollocks."

He sighed and leaned against the counter. "I'd almost forgotten about the minefield of raising teenagers," Harry muttered. "They always think you mean to attack them when you're only trying to –"

"She told me you hate her hair and don't want it to be pink."

"I don't hate her hair, but does it have to be pink?"

"It looks lovely when it's blue," she countered. "What color Hope's hair is doesn't matter: what matters is that she's happy, Harry. I hope you'll apologize to her in the morning about the hair nonsense."

He huffed a little, and she scowled at him. He'd always accused her of being stubborn like a mule, but he was just as intractable. "Fine," he said. "But I don't care for it."

"She's scared you won't love her if she doesn't do exactly as you ask," Ruth warned. "Please don't play that card. I couldn't bear it, Harry."

"Don't be ridiculous – I would never…" He huffed again, clenched his fist, then released it. "Damn it, have I already tried to manipulate her? I didn't mean to."

"You do have a habit of being quite forceful," she reminded him gently. "I'm immune to it now, but she isn't. She doesn't know that you're scared."

"I'm terrified I'll lose you both."

"Then stop acting so heavy-handed," she warned. She finished her glass of water and set the empty glass in the sink. "Good night, Harry."

He looked tired, lost, more than slightly frightened, and she took the moment to kiss him gently on the lips. He stared at her, dazed, then he grabbed her and kissed her back with all that he was worth – and then some. The cabinet was hard against her back and she knew that it would get very quickly out of control if he lifted her onto the countertop.

"Harry, no," she whispered, breaking the kisses. "Not here – not now –"

Her refusal sank into his brain and he broke away, staggering a few steps back. "Oh, god, did I – please, forgive me for manhandling you –"

"I want you to," she murmured. "But not right this moment. When we're both ready and we don't have to get up in the morning and go to school."

Those few steps between them didn't matter much; he crossed the divide and began the onslaught again, kissing her with such reckless abandon that it made her toes curl in her slippers and made her heart thunder in her chest. And then they were stumbling back into the living room, his hands beneath her pajama top, her fingers fumbling with the tie on his lounge pants, the sofa a welcome haven for them both.

It had been far too long since they'd had such intimate contact with another person; together, alone, each standing alone atop a wall of their own devising. She dug her fingers into his shoulders as he slid his hand into her knickers, fingers brushing the soft flesh of her most intimate folds. The kisses grew stronger, deeper, headier, his fingers more insistent. Her fingers squeezed as hard as they could and she cried out, the noise swallowed by the hunger of his kiss. She was light-headed with bliss, with the knowledge that he still… he still loved her enough to do this for her.

He broke the kiss, placing small, sweet kisses around her mouth until she captured his lips again with her own. His hand was still down her knickers, but he removed it hastily when he knew she had come. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very… sportsmanlike of me. You said no and I just –"

"You didn't force me, Harry," Ruth murmured, her voice sluggish and warm. "I was a very willing participant. I owe you –"

"Nothing. You owe me nothing."

She bit her lip. "Come to bed with me," Ruth whispered. "We don't have to do anything – just hold each other."

"Sleeping Beauty is in my bed," he pointed out.

"Then we'll sleep in hers," Ruth murmured. "Come on, Harry."

"Marry me, Ruth." His words were soft, insistent, insidious, full of want and need and promises that could never hope to be and ripe with the lust for hope.

"Don't be daft," she said, chuckling.

"Marry me," he repeated.

"Your timing –"

"Fuck my timing, Ruth." He was forceful now, the Harry-of-the-Grid that she'd once lived in fear of, but now was immune to. "I should have asked you all those years ago – I very nearly did. I was a coward and I will not be that man again. Marry me."

"You can't even ask me," she scoffed. "You're ordering me to marry you."

"I'm not giving you an option to run, Ruth."

She kissed his pouty lips and whispered, "I'm not running."


	6. Chapter 6

6:

* * *

"You're not running," Harry said, "but you also aren't giving any ground, either."

"Why are you pushing?" she demanded, a flash of anger in her eyes. "I need time to cope with all of this. I can't just – Harry, it isn't fair to ask me to marry you when I don't even know you anymore. It's been sixteen years and we only went on one date and –"

"Spent three weeks together," he interjected, feeling stung by her verbal slap. "We knew each other very well before those three weeks and – you're saying you don't –"

"Harry, I love you," she said, "but I need time to remember who you are and not just think of you as the man I put up on a pedestal, unattainable forever. Do you get it? I spent sixteen years thinking that I would never have you again."

He'd spent sixteen years trying to avoid the fact that he loved her so much that it was actually detrimental to his health. The first year had been unbearable, and he'd been like a wild animal whenever he wasn't being starched up for the politicians, wounded and aching with the pain of it all. Five years in, he was able to function, but he was still drinking heavily. Ten years in, and everything changed – Lucy had been born, his priorities had shifted, and life began anew.

Now… everything was flooding back to him in waves of emotion that threatened to drag him under and hold him there. That horrific dependence on her love, the removal of said love, the – _dear god, how had he not gone mad with this in the first place_?

"I spent those years wondering if you even thought about me," Harry whispered.

"Every moment," she said. "I knew you would drink too much and throw things and fight with people because I wasn't there. I know it was like… like I really died, Harry. I always thought of you as my dead husband and no one was ever going to touch you."

"I might yet be your husband, Ruth, but I'm hardly dead yet," he scoffed bitterly.

"You might as well have been." Her voice was quiet, sad.

He pulled her into his arms and sighed heavily. "I love you, damn it, and I want to protect you."

"Don't sound so happy about loving me," she muttered.

"You know that's not why I'm – damn it, Ruth, my name alone offers you protection." He pinched the bridge of his nose. She was giving him a headache; always the analyst, always looking for deeper meaning. "I don't suppose you know they made me a bloody Knight before they kicked me off the board."

"From what I hear, you jumped off the board," she countered. "And titles mean nothing."

"They won't touch you if you are attached to me," Harry grunted. "Otherwise, the possibility is for open season, Ruth, and no one wants that."

She looked at him for a long moment, then said, "You're not telling me something."

"Ruth, the things I'm not allowed to tell you would fill the Library of Alexandria a few times over," he said with a heavy sigh. "I wanted to marry you then, I want to marry you now. Even if we never have sex again, it's the least you deserve – you carried my child, you went to ground to save my unworthy backside… just let me repay you in the only way I can."

She was pale and shaking. "Do you not understand how much I want you, Harry?" she whispered. "Do you not get that I am trying to make rational decisions about the future of my family right now and you not telling me the truth – all of it – is… is going to be problematic."

"The truth is that they will separate us," Harry finally said. "The second you are back in the land of the living, you will be yanked back to London on a short leash, and marrying me is the only way to prevent that at this stage. You don't have much time – really, any time at all – to make up your mind."

"So I'll be exchanging one prison for another."

He almost laughed at the irony; his first marriage had been like being locked in a torture chamber for months on end with no relief in sight. "I'm not going to pretend my ego can stand that kind of assault, Ruth."

"No, I mean the… the… what's mine is yours and all that garbage."

"In this case, you'll be getting the better part of the bargain – and when I finally get blown up or shot to death, you'll have my pension and bank balance," he joked, trying to keep his tone light.

"Don't even joke," she whispered. "Don't even joke about that –"

"I almost died a few months ago," he pointed out.

She inhaled sharply and looked away. "You know, there were a thousand times I would have said yes without hesitation, to anything you might have asked. But now…"

"Now you have Hope to think about."

Ruth bit her lip and frowned. "She needs you, Harry. I need you."

"I need you," he whispered, laying the truth between them, naked and bare.

She looked up at him, eyes flashing with emotions he could not describe, fleeting and lovely. "Yes, Harry."

"Yes as in – yes? To the question –"

She nodded and murmured, "I'm tired. Can we please go to bed now?"

He nodded and smiled a little. "Why don't you go up and turn down the bed, and I'll be there in a few minutes," Harry suggested gently. "I need the loo."

She squeezed his hand and headed off. Harry looked around for his phone, finally finding it near the charger but not quite actually plugged in. He sent a quick, off-the-books text to Malcolm in code, then plugged his phone in and went upstairs slowly.

Ruth was waiting for him.

* * *

"Hope, Hope, Hope, you wanna shawe my ceweal?" Lucy asked excitedly as Hope came into the kitchen for breakfast. "Granpa makin' soldiers if you want toasties instead."

Harry chuckled. "What can I make you for breakfast, Hope?" he asked.

Hope bit her lip and said, "Is there any coffee?"

Her mother was at the end of the counter, fixing a couple mugs of coffee. "Almost ready, love," she said. "How did you sleep?"

Hope shook her head and mumbled, "Not so good."

"Do you want my teddy?" Lucy asked innocently.

Mary passed Hope a mug of coffee and said, "Your granola bars are in the cupboard if you're hungry." The coffee was mostly milk and sugar with just a little bit of coffee, but it made her feel better.

"I'm not really," Hope said.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Harry chirped. Hope wanted to punch him in the nose.

"Harry," Mary said warningly.

Catherine came into the room and said, "Okay, yes, I'm running late – dad, don't forget I'm out tonight at a PTO function at Lucy's school." She paused long enough to grab a slice of toast before she was gone in a whirlwind.

"I guess that's my cue," Mary said, leaning over and giving Harry a quick peck on the cheek. "See you later." She reached over and ruffled Hope's hair. "As for you, sweetheart, get the coffee in you so we can go."

Hope muttered, "Are you two going to be like that all the time?"

"Like what?"

"Kissing and stuff."

Harry smirked. "I certainly hope so."

Hope sighed at looked at her mother. "Yeah, well –"

"Granpa, gotta get ready to go!" Lucy insisted. "Hewp me!"

Mary smiled over at Hope as Harry and Lucy left the room. "I love him," she said simply. "Even after all this time, Hope, I still love him."

"He's a total stranger."

"He's Harry," her mother said simply. "And it's time to re-do your hair, pumpkin."

Hope paused, then shook her head. "He doesn't want me to."

"You don't have to do everything Harry wants," Mary said, finishing her coffee. "In fact, it's far more fun if you ruffle his feathers and get him off-balance. What color do you want this time, darling girl?"

"Teal," Hope said with a smile. "And purple."

"That's my girl. Do you want to get the things on your way home and we'll do it tomorrow night?"

Hope nodded and smiled wider, finishing off her coffee. "Thanks, mom."

"I know that everything is very difficult and confusing right now," Mary said softly, "but I want you to know that, no matter what anyone else says, no matter what happens, I am thinking of you when I make decisions for us. Do you understand, sweetheart?"

Hope nodded and sighed. "I just… it's weird to see you like someone so much. You don't like anyone."

"Well… no one is quite like your father, dear heart," Mary murmured, blushing. "Come on, get your stuff – we're going to be late if you dawdle."

* * *

Harry's patience was wearing thin; he was tired of sitting and waiting. He was just about to check the landings schedule again to make certain that it hadn't deceived him when he saw two familiar faces walk into the shop. He waved, and they put in their drinks order, then came to join him.

"Michael, Janine, thank you for coming," he greeted with a huge smile. "I assume everything went to plan?"

"Very nearly," Jo said with a shake of the head. The barista called out their orders and Malcolm went to retrieve them. "There was a tiny sticking point on the passport and visa for Hope, but Ros overruled everyone and fixed it."

"Good old Ros," Harry said, nodding. He took a sip of his tea and asked, "What was the sticking point?"

Jo looked uncomfortable for a moment, then Malcolm sat down. "One iced mocha for the lady, and one coconut milk matcha latte for me," Malcolm said cheerfully. "Oh, sorry –"

"What was the sticking point?" Harry repeated.

"Her surname," Malcolm threw in casually. "Ros sorted it."

Harry nodded and sighed. "Of course, it should be Evershed –"

Jo snorted in an unladylike fashion. "Yeah, no, that's not what it is now," she said. "Ros decided since you were listed on the falsified birth certificate as the father in the first place, she should be Hope Henrietta Pearce."

Harry paused for a long moment. "Henrietta?" he said.

"You didn't know her middle name?" Malcolm asked.

Harry shook his head. "Ruth didn't volunteer that information."

"Onto happier topics," Jo said cheerfully. "Everything is done and dusted – Mary Smith is now Ruth Evershed, and Hope Henrietta Smith is now Hope Henrietta Pearce, with permanent resident US visas, in case Ruth decides she wants to resist the Five leash."

Harry nodded and sighed. "How long do we have until they want her back in the building?"

Malcolm's eyes twinkled. "We haven't exactly told anyone where she is, and Ros insisted we not log anything into the computer."

Relief coursed through Harry. "Because of –"

"Yeah, because of the thing," Jo said warningly. "Also, we're not here. And we're not here for a few days because there's another one we have to track down." She smiled. "Any chance of seeing her?"

"Why don't you come by for dinner tonight?" Harry invited. "Catherine would be glad to see you both, I'm sure."

"I assume you'll be inviting them?" Malcolm asked.

"We've rather a full house, but you're welcome to save the department some money and sleep on the sofabed in the living room," Harry invited. "Ruth and Hope moved in with us just the other day. It's… an adjustment."

"We've got accommodations," Malcolm said with a small smile. "But we would love to join you for dinner, wouldn't we, Janine?"

Jo rolled her eyes. "Do we need to bring anything? Bottle of wine or –"

"No, just yourselves," Harry replied.

Malcolm cleared his throat. "We need to get going – even by subway, Brooklyn is a ways away."

Harry nodded. "You know where I'm at, so just come about six-thirty or so," he said gruffly, taking the envelope from Jo. "Thank you both. I really don't know what I would do without friends like you."

"You'd still be looking for her," Malcolm teased, winking.

Harry felt a dark shadow cross his face. "Yes," he agreed. He threw away the rest of his tea – awful swill that it was – and headed out into the cold to pick Lucy up at preschool.

* * *

Hope helped Lucy set the table to Harry's specifications, and got the right number of glasses of water. "Harry, are there extra people coming?" she asked worriedly.

"Yes, but don't fret – they're friendly," Harry said, wiping his hands on his apron. "Now, where did that colander get to…?"

Mary came into the room and said, "Something certainly smells good in here."

"Granpa's makin' garwic chicken pasta," Lucy announced. "It's nummy."

"Hello," Harry said, smiling across the room.

Hope frowned; he unnerved her, like there was the nice teddy bear guy on the outside and something terrible and frightening beneath. She'd seen him angry, that night when she'd been assaulted, and it scared her. She didn't know why her mom loved him so much, and that worried her more.

"Hello," Mary greeted with a shy smile and a blush. "Hope, did you get the stuff for your hair?" she asked.

Hope nodded. "Yeah – we can do it tomorrow."

"Pink again?" Harry asked.

Hope hesitated, then shook her head. "Teal and purple," she said.

Harry raised an eyebrow, then sighed. "Well, do what you must, but I'm sure your real hair color is lovely, too…"

"I'm a ginger," Hope shot back. "Everyone makes fun of my red hair. So, no, it's not lovely." She didn't mention that her hair had been much longer and naturally-colored in October when she had been raped. The first thing she'd done was get it all cut off and bleached to platinum so she could dye it pink. Anything to make the hurt stop hurting.

"Enough," Mary said, stepping between them. "Enough."

"My mum was ginger," Harry said softly. "Beautiful woman, she was. You look very much like her, Hope."

"I don't really look like anybody," Hope said.

"Because you're you," Mary said with a smile, ruffling Hope's hair. "I love you, sweetheart."

And then her attention was drawn back to the table. "Do we have company coming?"

"Our old friends Michael and Janine are in town," Harry said.

"Oh?" The question was both apprehensive and intrigued, and Hope watched her parents intently.

"They brought something important for you from London," he continued. "Lucy, what are you doing? Get your hands out of the salad, little madam – go wash them, right now. Hope, can you help her?"

Hope frowned, knowing she was being dismissed from a conversation she wasn't meant to be privy to. When she and Lucy came back, her mother wasn't in the kitchen any longer, and Harry was draining pasta.

"Harry," Hope said, "what did Michael and Janine bring from London?"

"Your mum's favorite chocolates," he lied smoothly.

She knew he was lying because his mouth did this… thing… when he wasn't telling the truth. But what did she know? She was just a stupid kid.

"I've got study group at seven," Hope said. "Can I eat now, please?"

He plated her pasta and green beans, made sure she was comfortable at the table, and stepped away when Mary stormed into the room, yelling, "And what the hell is this nonsense? Who the hell thought –"

"Ros assumed, and made the decision," Harry said. "Michael and Janine will be glad to tell you more so you can yell at them when they get here."

Mary paused, looking at Hope. "Why are you eating now?" she asked blankly.

"Study group at Megan's for biology."

Mary sighed. "Do you need me to walk you?"

"No, mom, I'm fine." Hope bit back the retort that she was almost an adult already. Choosing to go to study group was part of being an adult – especially when Jason Donovan was going to be there, too. She really hated group projects. "I should be home about nine."

She ate quickly, then grabbed her bag and coat. She was headed out the door when a man and a woman came up the steps. "You must be Hope," the woman said with a smile. "Wow – you look like –"

"Ring the bell," Hope said, "they're all waiting for you." She pulled up her coat collar and walked into the night.


	7. Chapter 7

7:

* * *

Harry opened the door and smiled. "Took you two long enough – I've just been getting screamed at over Ros's 'dangerous assumption'," he said. "Though, it wouldn't be Ruth and me if we weren't prevaricating over something or another…"

Jo laughed. "Yeah, well… have you told her yet about –"

"No, and I'm not going to until we must," Harry said softly. "She's got enough on her plate right now."

"We met Hope," Malcolm said.

Harry's smile faded. "Yes, well… of course, I feel badly because it's most definitely my fault that –"

Ruth stopped at the top of the stairs. "I'm not through yelling at you, Harry," she snapped. "Tell them to come up so I can –"

"Continue your abominable behavior?" Harry shot back.

"Some things never change," Malcolm said with a smirk.

Jo pushed past Harry and ran up the stairs to hug Ruth tightly. "My god, it is you," she whispered. "I didn't really believe it until now – what have you done with your hair?"

Ruth was crying, tears rushing down her cheeks. "Bloody teenage daughter did it to me," she said softly. "Look at you –"

"Sight for sore eyes, eh?" Jo replied. "Dunno how I've made it this long, but, knock on wood… You look good, really."

"Liar," Ruth accused. "I look like crap on the bottom of someone's shoe."

"I wouldn't go that far," Malcolm said as he joined them at the top of the stairs, pulling Ruth into a heartfelt and out-of-character hug. "Harry might take us out back and have us shot."

"Very funny," Harry forced out as he very slowly made his way back up the steps, wincing with the effort it took. "Bloody knee," he grunted.

"Have you taken your pain pills?" Jo asked.

"I don't need bloody pain pills," Harry snapped.

"You do if you're in pain," Jo countered. "So take the damn pills. You aren't the head spook anymore, so stop acting like you're saving the bloody world by suffering. You're only hurting yourself in the long run. Take the damn pills, Harry."

Ruth cocked her head and said, "Isn't that what I said last night when we went to bed and you were complaining?"

"He doesn't do very well with suggestion," Malcolm commented.

"Enough," Harry muttered. "I'll take the damn pills if someone will get them from upstairs for me." He rubbed the cold sweat off his forehead, wincing. "I need to sit down and get off my leg – it's like pins and bloody needles."

Lucy came trotting out of the kitchen with her little apron and chef's cap on, humming. "Granpa, you wook sick," she commented.

"Grandpa's hurting, love," Ruth said gently. "Let's go get your hands washed so we can get ready for supper."

"God, she's getting so big," Jo commented as Malcolm headed upstairs in search of Harry's pills. "I remember when you sent a photo over when she was first born and she was just a tiny little thing."

Harry nodded and said, "She's smart as a whip, that one. But don't you dare try recruiting her: she's meant for bigger and better things than being a spy." He groaned and put his head in his hands. "Jo, tell me there's progress on Operation Sundial, please."

"Well, to be fair, you did find Ruth," Jo pointed out. "And that was the main objective."

He glowered at her. "What about Gina Hamilton? Did you bring her in?"

There was a long pause, then Jo looked away quickly. "By the time we went back, she and her family were dead. Execution-style, single bullet to the head, trussed like chickens. Gina, her husband, and both daughters."

"Fuck," Harry exhaled. "Any clues who?"

"Yes, but I'm not at liberty to say." Jo frowned. "I mean, what do you care? The bitch shot you in the knee."

"I'm rather unfortunately used to being shot by my officers," Harry sighed. "You remember the Agent X story about twenty years ago? That was her. Her name was Zoe Reynolds. Good woman, good officer… if a bit emotionally reckless."

A shadow crossed Jo's face. "That's why you weren't more pissed about her shooting you."

"She was protecting herself, her family – and, though we didn't know it at the time, she was also protecting Ruth and Hope." He inhaled deeply. "Do you know what information they got from them before they were killed?"

"Not a clue – but they were apparently running a well-funded forgery ring," Jo commented dryly. "Lots of faked passports and papers everywhere. Place was an absolute disaster."

"They might have had something of Ruth's," he said unnecessarily.

"I missed the conversation," Malcolm said, coming up and passing Harry the bottle of Vicodin. "But operational details shouldn't be discussed here."

Harry took two pills dry, flinching as the pills stuck in his throat. "Of course not," he coughed.

"Shall we eat?" Ruth asked coming back from the bathroom, Lucy in tow.

"I'm hungwy," Lucy added unhelpfully.

"You all go on," Harry said. "I'll stay out here till the medicine kicks in." He punctuated the statement by flicking up the foot of the recliner and closing his eyes.

"Well, if that's what you want…" Malcolm said, his voice tinged with worry.

"It isn't so much a want as I am not currently capable of walking into the other room," Harry ground out through clenched teeth. "So go eat dinner. Without me."

He closed his eyes again, and listened to the chatter from the other room. The pain was not easing, and he found himself wondering if it was worth living with the constant agony. He jerked when a gentle hand came to rest on his arm, eyes flying open.

"Harry?" Ruth murmured. "Jo and Malcolm went home a little bit ago. Catherine came home a while ago. Hope will be here any minute –"

"Did I… did I fall asleep?" he asked, flinching when he shifted and the pain became unbearable again. "Fuck."

"Must have been the meds," Ruth said gently. "Are you still in pain?"

"Immense," he agreed.

"Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head. "No," he exhaled. "Go to bed, try to get some rest. I'm sorry I'm just a washed up old man –"

"Harry, stop talking bollocks," she muttered, pressing a soft, tender kiss to his forehead. "You are the very model of a man who has spent his lifetime in service. So don't you dare be so hard on yourself for being frail now. You have earned it."

"The rest of my life in pain and suffering?" he shot back.

"Retirement, you moron," Ruth sighed.

He frowned. "Go to bed," he repeated. "I'll wait up for Hope."

"And you called me a stubborn mule," she scoffed.

"Ruth, please, just… go to bed," he pleaded weakly. "I'm sorry to be a burden."

He watched several things cross her face at once: pity, sadness, anger, but the strongest emotion in her eyes – the one that he trusted most – was love. No matter what else happened, she still loved him, even if he was a washed up old cripple with delusions of a better life ahead.

She took a deep breath, then exhaled heavily with a frown on her lips. "You're only a burden because you're too heavy for me to carry up to bed," she commented wryly. "So I suppose I should make myself comfortable on the sofa because I'm not about to leave you alone and in pain down here, Harry."

"Playing little wifey, then?" he grunted.

"If you must know, I don't trust you any farther than I can throw you – and god knows if I can't walk you up the damn stairs, I can't throw you very far." She glared at him. "What aren't you telling me, Harry?"

"So many, many things," he reiterated.

"Jo said to tell you that Peregrine is in play."

He exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at her for a long second. "Peregrine is your security at work," he said.

"I don't need security at work," she replied.

"I need you to trust me."

"You're fifteen and a half years late for that." Her voice was cold, hard. "My trusting nature died when Mace…"

"Did he…" Harry paused, trying to word it delicately. "Assault you?"

"He cut my face to ribbons, Harry."

"I mean… sexually."

She glared at him. Anger, more anger, darker and more furious than he'd ever seen her before. "It wasn't exactly like anyone was stopping him from doing anything." Her tone was like ice, frozen and robotic. "He never let anyone else touch me. And when he… did things… it was with objects."

The fury toward a dead man was almost more than he could bear to handle; but he had no right to feel that way if she did not feel the same way. She seemed resigned to it, to the fact that she had been all but raped by a master manipulator – but her rage wasn't boiling over. She had just forgotten how to trust anyone, even him. "I am," he began, his voice catching in his throat. "I am sorry you were forced to endure that."

"We aren't the same people who parted ways on the dock," she said very quietly, suddenly drained of all the anger, the vitriol, as if she'd shut it back into its box and banished it. "It's stupid to think that we can make this – us, a marriage – work."

"Then I am stupid with wishful thoughts," Harry sighed. "Because I want nothing more than to make this work between us. I'm too old to pretend that what we felt for each other then – and now – is anything other than love, Ruth, and I will fight till my dying breath to earn your trust and faith in me again." He stared at her, his lower lip working into a out rather than quivering and showing his fear that she would pack up and go – depriving her of the protection she may need to survive and leaving him alone with his demons again. "Peregrine is a decommissioned, deniable asset that reports to Section D directly. They have used him before in many covert operations. I trust him with your life, Ruth."

"Why do I need surveillance?"

"I can't."

The door slammed shut and they heard Hope trudging up the stairs. She passed the living room and went to the kitchen, then they heard the sounds of the fridge opening and closing.

"How was study group?" Ruth called.

"It was crap like always," Hope said, appearing in the doorway with a pint of ice cream and a spoon in hand. "I'm the only one taking it seriously, so we're all going to fail. And Jason Donovan thinks it's funny to try and corner me in front of everyone. He followed me again."

Ruth's lip curled, and all of that ferocious rage came back. "I'm going to kill that little –"

Harry held himself back from telling her that Peregrine had orders to protect Hope as well. If he mentioned that, it might well all be over before it began. He would, of course, have to meet with his old friend in order to pass on the information that Jason Donovan was on the short list of people that Peregrine could make piss their pants if necessary.

"Do you carry pepper spray?" Harry asked.

"No."

"You need to start. Do you know how to –"

"I know self-defense," Hope said tetchily. "But it doesn't help when all you see is –" She shrugged unhelpfully, shoving a spoonful of ice cream into her mouth.

Harry sighed. "Then we need to contact the police, make a report – he cannot just be allowed to do these things to you, Hope."

"I can't," the girl said simply. "I'm scared that he'll – that his friends, his dad –"

"Luke Donovan is the Deputy Mayor," Ruth spoke up. "It's a minefield, Harry, and no one wins."

"Someone is going to win, and it will not be him," Harry said simply. "Even if I have to castrate the little fucker myself. We do not negotiate with terrorists, and I will extend that remark to include rapists, as well."

Hope was frowning. "You can't hurt him, Harry."

"Just you put that… arsehole out of your mind, sweetheart," Harry said. "And tell me if he follows you tomorrow."

She paused, then nodded. "I'm going to bed," Hope announced, putting the lid on the ice cream and retreating.

Once they were sure she was upstairs, Ruth said, "He torments her because he can. He has a sick obsession with –"

"I don't want to talk about rapists anymore," Harry grunted. "I don't want to talk anymore at all. There isn't a point, Ruth – we just go in circles."

"Because you are so stubborn – everything is black and white with you, Harry, and it's not. It's all shades of grey and murk and filth and –"

"Come here, Ruth," he said softly, patting his lap. She eyed him warily, but complied, carefully sitting on his lap on the recliner. "That's better," he sighed, wrapping his arms around her and holding on tightly, but not so tightly that she couldn't get away if she tried. "I love you."

She was very quiet for a long moment, then echoed, "I love you."

They sat like that for a while, drawing comfort from each other and the companionable silence they shared. His hand moved, gently caressing her ribcage, but if she noticed the change, she didn't react. Until her hand moved, stroking his chest. He took that to mean overture accepted, and let his fingers wander within reason.

They tentatively explored one another, committing the changes to memory. There was a moment when everything shifted and it became sensual, rather than innocent, and kisses were added into the mix. The pain in his leg receded, to be supplanted by the need and want of her.

"Ruth, we can't go on," he rasped out. "Not now – not like this. Not in my bloody recliner."

She moaned and dropped her head to his chest. "Damn it, Harry – don't be so fucking noble."

* * *

His laugh was short and bitter. "You think I'm being noble, Ruth? I'm being practical."

"I don't care," she whispered. She was done with it – all of it, the rejection, the holding her at arm's length, the noble sacrifice… done. He was still her Harry, the man who brought her blood to fire in her veins, the man who had taught her that passion and desire was nothing to be ashamed of. "We're not done here, Harry and –"

"I will never do anything to misuse your trust," he said softly.

She hesitated for a moment, then exhaled a laugh. "Harry, I'm not going to ever say you forced me to do something sexual against my will," she murmured. "Because it's simply not true. I want you; my heart wants you. I am as committed to you as if we were already married – so no, I am not going to stop just because you think I'm going to regret fucking you again."

"That's such a disgusting word for such a beautiful thing," he muttered.

"Do you prefer 'making love' then?" she challenged. "Because I remember a time when neither of us could get enough and it was… it was definitely more than just 'making love'."

"My inner animal would deign to call it 'fucking'," he grumbled. "Fine. Whatever we call it, I just – I need to know that you want it."

"I do," she murmured. "More than you know." She paused and smiled. "Whoever knew that Harry Pearce, master of seduction, is really a bit of a prude?"

"Master of seduction?" he said with a raised brow. "Where on earth did you get that?"

"Watercooler gossip," she breathed hot against his neck before kissing him. "A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away…"

"Isn't that the beginning of _Star Wars_?"

"And what if it is?" she challenged, kissing him again, giving in to the temptation of deepening the kiss and drinking greedily of him. A few more minutes of intense kisses, of illicit touches, and he gave in – finally.

She had wanted their first time back together to be special – wine and flowers and violins and a hotel suite with no distractions – but she was just going to have to settle for an intense shag in the living room where anyone could walk in. Her expectations were obviously too high, the fantasy of what would happen having played out in her mind so many times over the years.

But fantasy had no place in the reality she was firmly rooted into: however, she had Harry right where she wanted him. They both struggled with their clothes until they were just undressed enough to do what they were desperate to do. Ruth moaned softly as she straddled his hips, lowering herself until she was firmly seated on his hips, his cock deep inside her. His breath was quick and heavy, and he was struggling to keep control of this, of them, of the situation – but she wrested that control away from him by staying completely still against him.

"Who is Peregrine?" Ruth murmured.

"A friend," Harry exhaled lowly. "You'll find out tomorrow." His hands landed on her hips, his pelvis rocking forward just a bit, just the tiniest bit –

"That isn't good enough, Harry." She didn't want to play hardball, but she was going to do it anyway, despite the feel of him – so good, oh god, so deep – distracting her. "Tell me."

"Or what?" he challenged, thrusting hard into her, his knuckles white as he grasped her body. "Or you'll stop this?"

She laughed and kissed him, moving against him in a slow, steady way that she knew from experience drove him absolutely mad with lust. "Silly man – I just need to know how much to flirt with our friend," she breathed against his lips.

"Don't," he advised. "Your old husband will be jealous."

She laughed and whispered, "Oh you will, will you?"

Neither one of them was willing to give an inch. The battle of wills carried over into their sensual game, the passion rising, the need increasing. Ruth refused to be the one who came first: she held onto her urges like a vise, holding them back, giving him everything he needed to –

He caught her by surprise, biting her nipple through the fabric of her shirt, making her lose that firm grasp of control with what amounted to a caveman thump on the head. She stared at him, dazed, but he took the chance to break her walls down completely. His kiss was hot, passionate, tender in a way that only he could manage, and the hunger of it shocked her all the way to her core. Their movements became frantic, friction and desire pulsing between them as the heat rose.

Just when she thought she couldn't take any more… one of his hands released her hip, and came down hard on her backside, shoving her over the edge into the embrace of an orgasm so strong she stopped breathing. When she inhaled again, his face was pressed into her torso, smothering his moaning, grunting cry of utter bliss. He was still deep within her, his body still, but his cock twitching and spilling inside her, and she moaned softly as his hand caressed her ass, taking her right back up to the edge.

"Don't you dare flirt with him," Harry ground out. "You are mine, Ruth – remember? My creature, my lover –"

"Your wife," she exhaled lowly, letting go for just a moment, letting his voice, that gentle touch, knock her down again into ecstasy.

There was silence for a long moment, then he whispered, "I'm sorry – Ruth, I lost my head – there is no reason at all for me to –"

"Be a chauvinistic piglet?" she countered, leaning against him, letting her breathing slow again. "I am yours, Harry. Your creature, your lover, your wife… the mother of your child. I gave you my heart a long time ago – but have you kept it safe for me?"

He didn't reply; she hadn't really expected him to.


	8. Chapter 8

8:

* * *

"Have you seen the dish they have subbing PE?" Catherine said, flopping onto the sofa with Ruth in the lounge. "I would bang him like a screen door in a hurricane, but he's probably married." She sighed and offered Ruth her container of carrots, celery, and bell pepper strips.

"The best ones usually are," Ruth commented drily.

"Speaking of relationships," Catherine said hesitantly, "I heard you and dad last night. On the way to the kitchen for a snack. I didn't mean to and I got the hell out of the way before I broke the mood, but… maybe upstairs next time? Behind a door? With a lock? Please?"

Ruth blushed and murmured, "Sorry. Harry's knee was buggered and –"

"Look, I'm happy for you two, I am – the secret is out and all that. But what if it wasn't me coming down? What if Lucy got up – or Hope?"

"Hope knows about sex," Ruth muttered.

"Okay, yeah, that's… really not what I meant, but okay –"

"You're going to have to talk him into a chair lift for the stairs," Ruth said softly. "He couldn't walk last night; that's the only reason we were in the living room."

"He's a stubborn pillock," Catherine muttered. "Oh, oh – look at who just walked in. Mary, look – the PE sub."

Ruth glanced over, then blinked twice, swallowed hard, then said, "Yeah, not my type."

"Chubby old bald men might do it for you, but I want to climb _him_ like a _**tree**_," Catherine all but purred.

"Shh, he's coming," Ruth hissed, shoving the lunchbox back at Catherine as the man sauntered over and sat across the coffee table from them. "You must be the PE sub," she greeted.

"Aaron Campbell," Adam Carter greeted with a small smirk, his American accent fully in force. "And you are…?"

"Mary Smith, I teach French – and this is Catherine Peyton, journalism, yearbook, and A/V."

Adam smirked. "Nice to meet you both."

Catherine squeaked, "Nice to meet you, too –"

"To be honest, you two are the only two women in the room – and there are several men, as well – who aren't ogling my ass," he commented dryly.

"Widowers aren't my type," Ruth said.

"How do you know he's a widower?" Catherine interjected.

"I just do – it's like a secret club: lose someone forever, it scars your soul," Ruth said, sipping her coffee idly.

He smiled a little. "Yeah, something like that – my wife died a while back," he agreed. "What about you?"

Catherine cleared her throat. "Almost five years ago," she said very quietly.

"Not married, but I think I've found my Prince Charming," Ruth said dismissively. "Why don't you two talk? I need to go make a call."

"Oh, but we're just getting to know one another –"

Ruth retreated to the corridor and dialed Harry's number. He picked up on the second ring, out of breath. "Ruth? Has something happened?"

"Peregrine is Adam Carter."

"Please don't flirt with him," Harry pleaded softly. "I couldn't tell you – operational details, Ruth."

"I'm not going to flirt with him," she sighed. "Your daughter has that covered. I can't tell how seriously he's taking her, though."

"You're angry."

"No, I'm confused and a little frightened by what you aren't telling me," she admitted softly. "I may be out of the game, Harry, but I'm not stupid and the implications are – well, quite frankly, none of them are good and all of them are staggering."

He sighed. "We'll talk tonight."

"Will we?"

"Yes."

"You're promising?"

"Ruth, I will tell you everything I can. I owe you that much."

"You owe me a hell of a lot more than that," she hissed, ending the call. It took her a moment to compose herself and go back into the lounge. "Sorry about that – what did I miss?"

"I was just putting Catherine here to sleep with details of the Mets spring training –"

"Yankees girl, me," Catherine muttered.

"Ah, yes, sportsball," Ruth sighed. "My late husband was a cricket man." She knew she had to keep up the pretense for Catherine's sake – she definitely did not need to know what was going on.

"Dad's a cricket fanatic," Catherine sighed, rolling her eyes. "My husband played basketball." She shrugged a little, then went back to nibbling on her container of veggies. "Watched everything else, though," she added. Her gaze was troubled and unfocused, as if she was far, far away, and Ruth felt a pang of guilt. She knew that Catherine would give anything to have Brad back, but here Ruth was, just sauntering in and grabbing Harry without any thought as to how it would affect her. "My brother watches baseball sometimes, but he's not exactly a hardcore fan. We go to see the Yankees when he visits, though."

Adam smiled indulgently. "My wife couldn't stand sports and always tried to sabotage my 'me time'. Not that I really minded." He glanced over at Ruth and the pain in his eyes was just as fresh as it had been when Fiona had died. "It looks like I'll be here for at least two weeks, so… Maybe we could go get drinks or something?"

"I'm busy in the evenings with my daughter," Ruth spoke up. "Catherine, why don't –"

"He wasn't really asking me," Catherine mumbled.

"Actually, I was," Adam said, clearing his throat. "No offense, Mary, but you're really not my type, either."

"None taken," Ruth replied, smirking a little. "Catherine, maybe tonight?" she prodded.

"But we were going to –"

"Tonight would be a good night, Aaron," Ruth steamrolled. "Wouldn't it, Catherine? We don't have anything on."

"We?" Aaron said, raising a brow.

"She moved in with my dad and me," Catherine said cheerfully. "So now we're all playing 'happy families'."

"It's only temporary, till I can find a new place," Ruth said. "Getting evicted by a court order does manage to put a cramp in one's style."

Catherine snorted a little. "Yeah, new place… pull the other one. The way you and dad are cozying up –"

"TMI," Aaron said with a shudder. "And I'm assuming that's why I'm not your type?"

"Yes," Ruth said simply.

"Point well taken."

The conversation shifted and Ruth found herself strangely outside of it even though she was a part of it. Too many layers of communication and code were flying for her to even begin to catch up, and her head was spinning by the time their lunch break was over.

She knew something was in the wind, but she couldn't begin to unpick it – her good old fashioned spook senses were dulled by too much time away from her people, from her family … For, like it or not, they had been her family just as much as Hope was. As much as Harry was.

It was sick, toxic, even, the need to go back to it, to thrive again in the midst of such… inhumanity and bleakness. But it didn't make the urges go away to acknowledge how wrong it was.

* * *

"So you've seen her," Adam said to Jo. "What do you think?"

"I think she's seen some shit," Jo said softly, sighing and stirring her coffee. "I think if we could have pulled her out before now, we should have."

"Are you referring to her face?"

"I'm referring to everything. She's not the same Ruth we knew; not at all. She's scared that we're going to swoop in and rob her of everything she's managed to build for herself – which isn't much. That's why she's fighting so hard. She's scared and we can't give her any kind of assurances."

Adam shrugged and sighed. "You know Harry can't comment on black ops, either – and he's probably given her more information than he should have already. Loose lips and pillow talk and all that."

Jo shook her head. "They aren't together – not properly, anyway. You should've seen them the night before last. It's like they're strangers – perfect bloody strangers that can finish one another's sentences."

"It's been years," he countered. "Of course they aren't going to be in sync. It's all new and awkward and wrong again. Did you meet the daughter?"

"Hope? Briefly. She was on her way out to a study group. She's a dead ringer for Harry – no denying who her father is at all." Her lips twitched with mirth. "So we know they got there before, and now we have to wait for them to get there again."

"I really hope that it's sooner rather than later because the entire operation hinges on the fact that Ruth needs to be seen to be alive and well and in Harry's bloody back pocket," Adam sighed.

"Don't you dare tell her that – don't breathe a word," Jo warned sharply.

"She'll find out anyway."

"Then let her find out on her own – do not offer her anymore information than absolutely necessary. Ros's orders. It's safer if she's ignorant of the severity of the situation."

"You know, I thought I'd missed all of this… turns out, I only miss the plotting," Adam confessed. "And maybe the honey trapping – a little."

"You're such a man," Jo scoffed with a chuckle.

"When is Ros making her way over?"

"When shit hits the fan and no sooner."

"So we'll just have to wait."

* * *

"Can I talk to you?" Hope asked, getting Harry's attention. "Before mom and Catherine come home, I mean."

"Sure – let me get Lucy settled with the telly for a bit and I'm all yours," Harry said with a smile. "Do you need help with your homework or…?"

"No, no, I'm okay with that," Hope assured him. She didn't want him to think she was stupid, not when everyone else teased her for being a teacher's pet and knowing all the answers. She just needed –

It only took a couple of minutes before he was back at the kitchen table with her – he was armed with a mug of tea and she was armed with a glass of juice. "Now, what can I do for you?" Harry asked, his lips pursing together in a grim line as if he was dreading the answer.

"You're my dad," she began quietly. "I know you are because mom said you are – and because I look like you. But…"

"But?" he prompted when she was quiet for a long time, trying to word what she wanted to ask.

"Why now?" was what Hope finally settled for slamming down on the table between them. "Why did you just turn up now? Why not _any_ of the times we actually _needed_ you?" She took a deep breath and added, "Mom used to cry herself to sleep every night."

He set his mug down and leaned back in his chair, watching her cautiously. "How much has your mother told you about me?" Harry inquired.

_**Only that you were a very important man doing a very important job and that's why you couldn't be with us**_… "Not much," she said very quietly. "Not anything, really."

"She must have told you something: a curious child like you would ask questions, wouldn't you?"

Hope sighed. "She said you were a very important man doing a very important job and that's why you weren't with us," she said.

"That is true, more or less," he said, nodding.

"But it's not the entire truth, is it?"

"I can't tell you the entire truth."

"Why not?"

"Because you're too young to understand."

"I'm fifteen. I'm not a little kid."

"That isn't what I meant," he sighed. "You are… in many ways, you are your mother's daughter: intelligent beyond fault, entirely too stubborn, and very, very much good at putting together pieces of things. But you are also very much like me – the world is a harsh place, Hope, and I don't want to be the one who causes you more pain."

"Your job was dangerous?"

"Very."

"And you couldn't be with us because it was dangerous and you didn't want us to get hurt?"

He hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yes."

"Did you know about me?"

His silence said it all.

"Did you love mom enough that you'd've come to find her?"

"Yes."

"Are you lying to me right now?"

He flinched. "Maybe."

She considered him for a long moment; if he was going to lie to her, what even was the point of asking the next question she had? He hadn't exactly been forthcoming during their conversation, and he still put her ill at ease, no matter how much she tried to assure herself that he was her father. It was difficult to reconcile everything in her head into something that made sense.

"Do you love her?" Her words were soft, broken in their simplicity.

She could see him fighting with himself, an inner battle playing out on his face. When he finally spoke, it was with quiet, hard conviction. "More than I ever thought was possible to love another person. That was why I didn't come for her. Because we could never be together the way we wanted to be."

"But you're here now."

"I am," he said, his voice breaking with the strain. "I almost wasn't – if I hadn't walked you home, it could have been months or years more before…"

"Do you love me?"

"You're my daughter."

"That's not answering the question."

"I had no idea you existed before last week – you have to give me time to –"

"There is no time," Hope hissed. "You are my father – you either love me or you don't. And if you don't, what am I supposed to do? Pretend that I'm okay with you and mom just… being together? Because you are, aren't you? You just want _her _– you don't want me."

"You think in absolutes, just like your mother – everything is fact or fiction, black or white – can't you for a moment give in and admit that there are shades of grey?" Harry challenged angrily, his hand shooting across the table to grasp hers firmly. "I love you because you are my daughter – but I don't know you. I cannot just… let you in. Your mother has my absolute trust – and she holds my heart in her hands. Always has done, from the moment I realized that I might care for her more than was socially acceptable. I need you to understand that I cannot… I am not… I am not a strong enough man to –"

Hope bit her lip till it bled, frightened that if she moved, he would hurt her. It was irrational, she knew that, but the fear was real. "Harry," she whispered, "you're scaring me. Please don't hurt me."

He immediately withdrew and looked at her for a long moment. "That wasn't the first time that boy attacked you, is it?" Harry asked cautiously.

Hope stared at him for a long time, then said, "Did mom tell you? What he did?"

"Enough of it to know that if I see him within five feet of you, I will beat him senseless," Harry said. "Have you… talked to anyone? A counselor? A friend?"

"I don't have friends," Hope said with a sad laugh. "No one wants to be friends with the smartest kid in the class. No one wants to be friends with someone who isn't popular. I don't have anybody to talk to. And they all make fun of me – all of them. Especially_ him_."

Harry heaved a sigh and covered his face with one hand. "I'm sorry, Hope – I'm so sorry to be… dredging all of this up," he said, his voice shaking with emotion. "I was only trying to help. Because I am… a limited man, emotionally, but… I do care. You are my daughter, and _I __**do**__ care_."

The awkward silence stretched between them until she broke it. "I see him. All the time. When I'm awake, when I'm asleep… at school, on the street, everywhere. I hate it. I hate him. Why me? Why did he do this to me?"

Harry took a deep breath and whispered, "Because you were isolated and alone – with no friends to turn to, no one to talk to… no one but your mother to care about your welfare. But that isn't true any longer, and I swear to you that I will protect you, Hope."

"You can't promise that," she whispered.

"I can, actually," he said firmly. "You're going to notice a man watching you at school, on the streets, always a few steps away, but never too far from you. His name isn't important, but he's there to watch over you – to protect you."

"Why?"

"Because you need it," Harry said simply.

She watched his face, then whispered, "You aren't lying to me now."

"No, I'm not," he said with a rueful smile. "What gave it away?"

It took her a moment, but then she connected the dots. "When you lie, you pause like you're looking for words – like what you're going to tell me isn't the truth. But when you're telling the truth, there's nothing like that – and you look like you've got indigestion when you're saying something emotional."

"Well, thank you for that," Harry said, amusement flashing in his eyes for a brief moment. "I am sorry for everything you and your mother have gone through on my account – I need you to know that before I tell you something important."

Hope nodded and exhaled. "I know you are."

He nodded. "I… I asked your mother to marry me a few days ago and she's agreed." His eyes flew to hers when she gasped in alarm. "I can't explain why except to say that it's for your protection, and because I love her very much. I cannot allow… I will not – damn it." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I didn't mean to –"

"You love her and want to protect her. I'm just incidental. It's okay," Hope whispered. "It's okay." She pushed back from the table and ran upstairs, locking herself in the room that was supposed to be hers, wondering why everything had to be so painful.


	9. Chapter 9

9:

* * *

Harry tucked Lucy in and gave her a kiss on the forehead. The sleeping girl mumbled something, and he smiled, remembering Catherine when she had been young. The smile vanished when he realized he'd never had the chance to know Hope when she was small, had missed so much of her life – had made so many mistakes since then…

"I think I made a hash of things with Hope earlier," Harry said to Ruth as he closed his bedroom door behind them a few minutes later. "We were having a discussion and I'm afraid I rather put my foot in it – and implied that you were the only person I care about in this relationship of ours."

Ruth's face was impassive. "Isn't that true, though?"

"No, it bloody well isn't!"

"Well, then –"

"What she is, is a complication to what was meant to be a very simple operation," Harry grumbled. "And I find myself upset with the sheer number of times we were incredibly irresponsible and didn't suit up with at least a johnny –"

"I'm as complicity in that as you are, so don't you dare roll about in self-pity now," Ruth snapped, her eyes flashing angry fire. "I seem to remember a particularly pleasurable morning in the shower…"

If her intention had been to stoke a fire between them – a burning, moldering conflagration that would consume them both – she had certainly succeeded. Of course he remembered the morning they'd been late to work because they had made the mistake of showering together. It was burned into his memory like a painful scar – the first time she had ever breathed the words, "_I __**love**__ you_," to him. The first time he actually had begun to believe that it was possible for there to be something between them – not just wishful thinking, wish fulfillment, a shining beacon of hope in the darkness that shrouded them. Of course he could never go back on the promises he'd whispered to her in the heat of passion that morning – he wouldn't.

"I'm not… reveling in self-pity," he sighed. "It was meant to be simple – find you, protect you, end of the operation."

"Life is very rarely simple," she pointed out.

"I promised you that I would protect you," Harry said, his voice low and tight with barely restrained emotion. "I swore it, Ruth. And then, after you left, all I could think of was that I was drowning in lies – that one being the largest of them all. I couldn't protect you and I couldn't dare risk your safety to find you until I was certain no one was looking for you." He slumped onto the bed, feeling weaker than he ever had before. "Our daughter is… a brilliant woman. Like her mother."

"Find me, extract me, operation over?" Ruth questioned gently. "It's not that simple, is it? Nothing about this is simple – you think I'm not smart enough to see through the spies practically camped on your stoop?"

"It was meant to be simple," he muttered. "About two years ago, decommissioned assets began turning up dead, all over the world. Six months ago, I was recalled to London to help predict where and when next – and all I could think about was that it could be you. My heart nearly stopped every time a new body came up on the screens. Malcolm and I were searching for you, and I came across a link to Zoe Reynolds. She shot me in the bloody knee rather than tell me where you were – so imagine my shock when I was informed that her entire family was executed and their home ransacked. Imagine my fear – and that's why you're surrounded by spooks. That's why our daughter better stop walking around the city in the dark by herself. This is not a game, Ruth."

She took a deep breath and reached out to steady him. "No," she agreed, "it's not a game, Harry. I'm sorry. I just – I needed to be certain that I wasn't reading too much into everything."

"If anything, you're not reading enough into it," Harry muttered. "Ros making the decision to give our child my last name might be enough to make the whole house of cards fall down. I'm terrified right now for your safety, but I'm frantic with panic over Hope."

"I'll talk to her in the morning," Ruth murmured. "Harry… I'm not going to say that it's going to be okay because I don't know that – and neither do you. But it is… it's nice to know that you're willing to do sentimentality for us."

The corner of his mouth twisted up into a bitter smile. "Sentimentality, Ruth? Is that what you call it when you love someone so completely, so utterly that the thought of losing them again chips away at your soul and makes you desperate just to know that they still feel something – anything – for you?"

"Harry…"

"I didn't ask you to marry me because I wanted to protect you from some unknown foe, Ruth – it was an excuse. An excuse to be selfish and take what I want, what I need… to survive." His tone was harsh, full of frustrated anger – he didn't want to shout, he didn't want to hurt her feelings, he didn't want to be the Harry-of-the-Grid who demanded first and begged questions later, but he was completely unprepared for the roller coaster of emotions he had found himself on for the last few weeks. "Yes, I am a selfish bastard – say it, Ruth. Say I am a selfish, heartless bastard."

"I can't," she whispered, taking a few quick steps and cupping his face in the palms of her hands like she had done that morning on the docks. "I can't say it because it's not true. And I didn't say yes for purely altruistic reasons, either," she breathed, pulling him down for a deep, needy kiss that sent all the blood draining from his brain straight to his groin. "I said yes," Ruth breathed against his lips, "because in sixteen years… I never shook loose the cobwebs of three weeks spent with you. Because I am a selfish, sorry woman who has been in love with you for so long I've forgotten what it's like to not love you. Because it doesn't matter how long we've been apart: all I care about is not being apart again, damn you, Harry. Damn you."

"I'm already damned."

"Damn you for being so fucking charming and cuddly and irresistible, you bastard," she swore, kissing him again. There was no question where their strong words, where their passion, was going – it was something less than implied so much as known with conviction.

They fought, bickered, threw harsh words at one another, because they cared. Because they loved one another so strongly that they knew that even though the truth stung, the words needed to be said. That wounds must be inflicted in order to heal properly. That isolation in a little bubble of bliss was not what the world was about – shelter, sheep, compliance…

Nothing mattered in those moments beyond being as close to one another as they could allow. Emotionally, physically, mentally…

He nearly stopped breathing when he slipped into her body, the sheer exuberant joy of being so closely connected to her shorting out his brain. Instinct took over and they moved together in a way that was borderline violent; every thrust felt like a slap from God, every scratch of her nails like a biting penance he needed to feel in order to be alive. Their kisses were bruising, deep, and he playfully bit her lower lip, knowing that she was just as needy as he was for this.

It was what had made them so good before; that borderline of passion so intense it was very nearly pain. The need to feel harsh things to feel such utter bliss. He knew just how far to push, and no further – he would never hurt her.

She tightened around him, and he closed his eyes, losing himself completely in the deep, drugging kisses between them. His hips moved sporadically, erratically, until white hot, intense ecstasy flowed through his veins, stilling him against her. His heart raced, overwhelmed by the acts he'd just committed with her, and slowly, slowly, his breathing became normal again. "Ruth," he rasped huskily, "please tell me I didn't hurt you – I lost… I lost control –"

"I'm fine," she whispered close to his ear. When she pulled back, her eyes were twinkling and her smile was strung out and blissful. "You didn't hurt me."

"Would you tell me if I did?"

"Of course, you stupid man," she murmured. "Now, budge up – and hold me, Harry. Just hold me."

He wrapped himself around her, willing her to know just how strongly he felt without words. The words always got in the way for them; it was an indecipherable code that neither of them really understood. But this? Holding, being held, touching, fucking… making love. That made sense. All of that made everything so much simpler. So elegant and simple.

* * *

Ruth knocked softly on Hope's door. "Sweetheart?" she murmured.

The door opened a crack, showing her daughter's pale face. "What do you want?" Hope whispered. "Why aren't you with him?"

"Because I brought you a cup of coffee," Ruth said with a small smile. "Did you sleep okay?"

Hope shook her head and opened the door enough to take the mug from her mother. "I had a nightmare."

"I'm sorry, love…"

"Are you?" Hope shot back.

"Yes," Ruth said sharply. "Just because I love your father doesn't mean that I don't love you."

"Doesn't it?"

Ruth pursed her lips together and sighed. "Harry and I are… complicated," she finally said. "Always have been. But we're not very good at being apart – that's why you and I have always been so close. Because I can't… I couldn't have him, and I had you. We're so close that he's coming between us now and… neither of us know what to do about it. You are my daughter. I don't know if that's enough – of course I love you, you bloody twit. You came out of my bits screaming bloody murder like your dad and I've never once looked back and said, 'oh, I wish I hadn't had a little mini-me'." Ruth sighed in exasperation. "God knows you've never spent a bloody moment looking like me, either. I had your bloody father looking back at me all these years and do you have even a _**clue**_ how much that hurt? _OF COURSE I LOVE YOU_."

Hope's lower lip was trembling and she looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry, mommy," she whispered.

Ruth's frustration melted away. "Shit, I didn't mean to – Hope, baby, sweetheart, you know I love you," she mumbled, the words tumbling out over one another as she pulled Hope into her arms and just held her. "You know it – and loving your dad doesn't mean I love you any less. You're my baby – my one and only little girl, never gonna have another. We've seen some crazy things, you and I – haven't we? Shh, don't cry, sweetheart."

"Are you really gonna marry him?" Hope sniffled.

"I am," Ruth whispered. "Because I love him."

"Even though he doesn't love me?"

"He does love you – he just doesn't know how to say so because he's a little tiny bit… not emotionally engaged. He doesn't know how to make the words work how he wants them to – it doesn't mean he doesn't love you, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry," Hope wailed, burying her face in Ruth's chest.

"Shh, baby, shh," Ruth murmured soothingly. Harry came out of the bathroom and watched them for a long moment before he shuffled over and enveloped them both in a comforting embrace. "Shh, Hope… baby girl, shh… it's going to be okay, sweetheart."

Harry rubbed Ruth's back, his next words taking her by surprise. "Hope, I'm so sorry I upset you last night," he whispered. "I didn't mean to make you feel like… like that."

"I'm sorry," Hope sobbed over and over and over again, and Ruth just held her and soothed her. "Mommy –"

"Shh, baby," Ruth whispered. "I'm not going anywhere, Hope."

"Daddy?"

"Me either," Harry promised softly. "I'm not going anywhere."

* * *

The hall pass for Mr. Morton's AP History class was, quite literally, a small marble bust of George Washington. Hope basically hated him for the irony, and for the fact that, despite being small, it still weighed about fifteen pounds. It was a ridiculous punishment for someone who just needed to go to the bathroom. She sighed and put the hall pass on the counter beside the sink, washing her hands industrially, making sure that her hands were covered with suds before she rinsed.

The door opened and closed. She looked up and met the predatory gaze of Jason Donovan, her heart going cold with pure panicked fear. "What do you want? Don't tell me you couldn't find the boys' room – big dumb ape like you," she taunted weakly.

"You look pretty today," he said with a smirk. "Makes me just want to take you out and –"

"Don't fucking touch me," Hope hissed.

In the bleak moment, she dimly remembered her father's assurance the evening before that she would be protected – HA! Where exactly was her protector when she needed them? Nowhere to be found.

The door swung open and an Indian man came in. "Get out of here," the man said in a very clipped British accent.

"Make me," Jason said with that same smarmy smirk. "I was just about to show my girlfriend a good time –"

The man pulled a gun from its holster and cocked it. "I will not repeat myself, Mr. Donovan. Get away from Miss Pearce, or you will have to explain to your father why you can't play football next season. You have until the count of three to remove yourself from the ladies' room. One. TWO…"

Jason slunk away, shoving the man roughly on his way out the door.

"Little shite," the man muttered, uncocking and holstering his weapon again. "You okay?"

Hope was trying to steady her breathing, trying everything to stay calm. "No," she forced out weakly.

"Do I need to get your mum?" he asked.

"Noooo," Hope wailed as the tears finally came hard and fast. "Please don't – I don't –"

"My name is Zafar Younis," the man said softly. "You can call me Zaf – your mum always did. We were friends a long time ago, me and your mum. And your dad asked me to watch out for you."

"My dad?" Hope scoffed through her tears.

Zaf smiled a little. "Yeah – Sir Harry Pearce. Fat pompous prig with a stick up his butt – ring any bells?"

Despite herself, Hope giggled. "He's not that bad…"

"Well, he thought you might need someone to fight some battles for you," Zaf said with a small smile. "But you look okay to me…"

Hope swallowed hard. "That boy –"

"Jason Donovan. He's the one who assaulted you and keeps stalking you. I get it – you're scared. You're scared to come forward and tell people. So I'm here to give you a little bit of leverage. The little arsewipe is going to get what he deserves, Hope – eventually."

"Mr. Younis –"

"Zaf or nothing," he said firmly.

"Zaf… why – why does he keep doing this to me?"

"Because he can," Zaf said. "Do you want to go back to class or do you want to go home? I don't think anyone would mind if you needed to go home."

Hope shook her head. "I can't go home," she whispered. "Because if I do, he wins."

A small smile graced Zaf's lips. "You're absolutely right," he agreed. "You might look like Harry, but you're Ruth's daughter all the way through. Never thought I'd get to say that."

Her curiosity piqued, she asked, "What do you mean?"

"They like to never have gotten together," he said with a chuckle. "I'm glad they managed it, though – you're not a bad kid."

"Thanks, I guess," she said with a sigh. "I bet the school isn't happy with you playing armed guard –"

"The school is being very accommodating," Zaf replied with a grin. "It's wonderful what unsubtle persuasion can do."

"Dad threatened them?"

"Harry is doing his best," Zaf commented, picking up the hall pass and almost falling over. "Wow, that's heavy – you okay to carry that back?"

"I'm fine," she murmured. "My dad is… scary."

"Yeah, I get that," Zaf agreed. "He can be scary and mean and cruel and all the other things – but only when someone threatens his family now. He's spitting nails over your stalker, kiddo. He's really worried about you – that's why I'm here."

"He scares me."

"He shouldn't," Zaf said. "He's really a big teddy bear, your dad – when he's not working, I mean. Then he's a bit of an arsehole, but… You know he retired to help take care of Catherine and Lucy? He'd do anything for you, kiddo – you're his kid. You've got this."

She inhaled deeply and grabbed the hall pass out of his hands. "I've got this," she repeated. "I'm fifteen years old. I am a grown-ass woman. I've fucking got this." She beamed at Zaf for a minute and nodded decisively before she strode out of the restroom like she owned the corridor. Every step she took, she felt stronger and stronger and stronger.

Now, if only she could pass the quiz.

* * *

Harry scowled at Jo. "Unacceptable," he said firmly.

"You don't really have a choice," she pointed out. "Another team is coming in next week – the secondary team. Erin Watts, Tariq Masood, and Dimitri Levendis. Malcolm and I are being recalled back to the Grid – apparently, UK interests trump your black op for the moment."

"Lucas make that call?" Harry asked divisively.

"Lucas was killed while you were in hospital," Jo said gently. "No one wanted to upset you, but –"

"Unacceptable," Harry repeated, his mind swimming. He needed his people – his team – around him at a time like this. With so many officers going missing and then turning up dead – the latest one in New Jersey, for god's sake – he needed all the help he could get. "I want to talk to Ros as soon as it's convenient for her."

"She's not going to like being bossed around, Harry."

"I don't actually care," he snapped.

"Look, I know it's difficult to understand, but there are actually very valid reasons why we can't mount an actual operation in the US without CIA approval," Jo reminded him. "So we have to be careful, clear signals, make sure everything is going swimmingly…"

Harry groaned and sighed. "Bollocks."

"Also, Malcolm has been trying to secure a marriage license for you and Ruth for the last two days, so you might be a little more sympathetic," Jo teased. "It's okay – everything is going to be okay, Harry."

"You know platitudes of complacency don't work on me," he muttered bitterly.

"Yeah, I know – I also happen to know that Adam is taking your daughter out again tonight."

Harry sighed heavily. "And Zaf?"

"Made the Donovan kid almost piss his pants."

Harry nodded. "Good, good…"

"Only you would think it was good that some damn kid pissed himself –"

"He hurt my little girl," Harry growled. "I want to cause him physical harm, but I am prevented by the fact that our friends at the CIA will emasculate me with a hot butter knife if I so much as blink in his direction. Hence Mr. Younis."

"Have you told Ruth?" Jo asked.

"Only as much as I needed to," Harry muttered. He rubbed his forehead in an attempt to stave off his headache. "She doesn't need to know that she's rather spectacular bait."

"You do realize she's going to kill you in your sleep, don't you?"

Harry laughed, the sound short and bitter. "Only if we live through this, Miss Portman… only if we live through this."


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry about the delay in this chapter - it's extra long to make up for the fact that my laptop charger died.

* * *

10:

* * *

There were four words, in combination with one another, and only four words in the English language that struck absolute terror and panic into the marrow of Harry Pearce's bones. _**We need to talk**_. Hardly anything good ever happened after those four words had been introduced.

_**We need to talk**_.

_I have cancer, Harry._

_I'm pregnant, Harry._

_I don't remember things like I used to, son – some days, I even forget your name. Silly old bugger, me._

_I want a divorce, Harry._

_I can't see you again, Harry._

_You've made a right bollocks of this, Harry –_

_Another, funeral, Harry? You do seem to lose your flock like wayward sheep, don't you?_

_Dad, I'm pregnant._

_I got clean, Dad – but… I could relapse at any point in time._

_I feel like I'm living in a bubble of sadness and one day, it's going to burst – and I don't want my daughter to see that, Dad. I can't let her see how weak I am. She needs me to be strong, and I can't be because her dad is gone and I'm all alone – except for her. I wake up in the morning and I'm so overwhelmed, I want to do anything to make it stop for just a second so I can breathe – but breathing hurts so much, Dad. It all hurts so much. I just want the pain to __**stop**__._

_Ruth is, in all probability, alive. We just need to find her, Harry._

_Dad, I don't think I can just let you pay for everything – Manhattan real estate is – but – but it's too big, Dad. Too big for the three of us. Maybe we can sublet a few of the rooms so you aren't spending all of your money on the mortgage? I feel terrible, living with my dad, rent-free in one of the most expensive cities on the planet when I'm barely making enough money to catch the subway every day. I guess what I mean is… thank you? For everything. But I feel like I'm taking advantage._

_There's a photograph at Gina Hamilton's, showing Ruth Evershed and a baby. We don't know the context and Gina is refusing to divulge the whereabouts of either mother or unknown child – as you well know. Do you need another painkiller? Don't give me that look, Harry – we both know you're not as infallible as you claim to be. The provenance of the photo is unknown; we don't know how long they were in Chile, or even if the child is Ruth's. What we need you to do right now is just relax and do as the doctors say: don't fight them. We will do our best to find out what's going on, Harry, I promise – even if I have to play dirty and call in some favors that I've held off for when the sky is falling in on us. I still feel guilty for my role in forcing her to leave the country, Harry. I don't do guilt very well. It took Andrew to show me that I can do… love and sentimentality and – and even maternal things. I'm still not certain that any of that is a good thing, no matter how much you assure me it is._

_Your knee, despite the replacement joint, is never going to heal properly. Your mobility will be adversely affected for the rest of your life, Mr. Pearce. Sorry – __**Sir Harry**__. You will need to begin to face the reality that, in a span of time that could be as short as a few months or as long as a few years, you will require a wheelchair to get around. Fortunately, New York is a relatively good city to live in as far as handicap accessibility, and –_

_Dad, __**why**__ did you never tell me about Ruth?_

_Granpa, why are you always so sad? The sunshine is out! The birdies are singin'! You should be happy!_

_You don't love me. You love __**her**__ – my mom. It's okay. I understand._

"We need to talk," Ruth repeated, slipping her hand into his as he laid aside the knife he was using to chop vegetables for dinner. "Harry?"

"Never have words ever stirred my fear thus," Harry forced out.

She squeezed his hand and smiled. "No, no – it's nothing bad, Harry. Just important that we talk about it – Catherine's asked if I would and… well, to be fair –"

"Shit, she's knocked up by some shit, isn't she?" Harry muttered.

"No –"

"She goes out a couple of times and comes back pregnant –"

"Harry, don't jump to conclusions," Ruth said firmly, giving him a tender yet firm kiss just to shut him up. He knew that was the intention, but it didn't stop him from feeling the beginnings of what could be arousal – she really had no idea what she did to him. "It's about your chair lift. We just need you to choose a model so we can get the process started – so you aren't wearing yourself down completely just trying to get upstairs to bed."

He was very nearly beginning to shake from the anxiety of the moment, but he clamped down on himself, determined to hide it from her. "Is that all?" Harry said in a deliberately neutral tone. "I thought something had happened or someone else had died or –"

"You're not very good at taking care of yourself," she pointed out gently. "And, I guess, since I'm going to marry you, it's my job to help where I can."

His heart soared up over the fear and anxiety – she still wanted to marry him. Thank god. He didn't know if he could take another blow like… "_We need to talk: we shouldn't get married, Harry. You're an old man and I'm not ready to spend the rest of my life with a cripple_."

"You still want to get married?" he said softly, trying not to let the hope shine through the crack in his voice that had somehow forced its way out.

She was silent for a long moment, then she whispered, "Of course I do. Did you think – did you really think I was coming to tell you I didn't want to marry you? Oh, Harry. You poor daft old sod." She squeezed his hand again. "I love you, you know. It'll take more than that to get rid of me now."

"Is that a promise?" he murmured.

"I used to think you'd just show up on my doorstep one day and tell me it was time to come home," Ruth said, her voice low and filled with emotion he didn't understand. "I dreamt about it every night for the first three years, prayed to a god I wasn't really certain I believed in anymore that you would come and save me from the hell I was living in. I was a single mother on the run with no one to help, no one to turn to, and I was suicidal and depressed after Hope was born. I wasn't sure I could keep living on air and sunshine and no – no substance, Harry. But I kept it together for Hope's sake, and I buried myself so deep I couldn't come up for air. I couldn't want you if I didn't think about you. I poured everything I had into taking care of her, of making sure that if you did come for us, that you knew that your child was loved and cherished beyond reasonable measure. And now I'm… I'm with you, I can't stop feeling – I can't… it's so much stronger now because it hurt so much, Harry. So, yes, it's a promise. I'm not going anywhere and you're not getting out of marrying me that easily."

He exhaled in a kind of relief; not because of her words so much as… well, he did admit to being a bit of an emotional barbarian. The very idea that she could be in so much pain cut him straight to the soul, but what was left of his heart sang off-key at the very idea that she still loved him enough to feel that much pain in the first place. It was complicated; they were complicated. Something to be unpicked and worked at, something so clearly not set forth in stone, but rather fluidly capable of falling apart without every effort to keep it together. So fragile, so…

"Ruth, promise me you will tell me if you ever feel like that again – like you want to hurt yourself or… or die." His voice was harsher than he meant it to be, rough from holding back his emotions, afraid to show her how much it would destroy him if she were to ever leave him again.

"I will," she promised. "The last time was the night Hope told me about her having been raped. I struggled; but she needed me more than I needed to feel guilty."

That put everything into painful perspective with startling clarity. "Ruth, I – I am so sorry you and Hope have had to suffer through this alone," he whispered. "I am so very sorry I wasn't –"

"How could you have known?" she countered. "You didn't even know we were here. It's not your guilt to bear, Harry. Do you understand? What happened before you came back into our lives is not your fault, and you should feel no guilt over it. That's my cross to bear – that I was unable to protect her. It's my fault and I will spend the rest of my life trying to pick up those pieces." She released his hand, but he kept holding hers tightly. "Harry, let me go –"

"No," he said simply.

"Harry, you need to finish dinner," she reminded him.

"We can eat late," he replied. "Or I'll order in a pizza."

"Harry, you can't just –"

"You can't just take all the blame and walk away with the weight of the world on your shoulders," he snapped. "I did that for how long, and where did it get me, Ruth? A broken marriage, three children who don't understand that I do love them dearly, a swanky house in New York, a knighthood, and an emotional backwater that I'm trying to slog through to get to you – do you understand, even for a moment, that you aren't alone any longer, Ruth? That I am… I am offering myself to you – every part of me, even the bad bits – because neither of us should be alone. We never should have been alone, apart… none of this should have happened. But it did, and I don't want –"

Her fingers curled around his again. "I don't want to be alone anymore," she whispered.

He took a deep breath, then exhaled, trying to calm himself. "You aren't alone," he promised. "And I think that you and Catherine should just decide which lift to get. You'll be far more logical about it than I will be." He smiled tightly. "But… maybe you should make sure it has the capability of supporting a wheelchair in the future if… if my…" He stopped, the shame and pain finally bubbling up. "I'm not going to get better, Ruth. I'm going to end up in a wheelchair. It's sheer stubbornness that's keeping me on my feet and moving right now. I'm sorry, but we're going to be married for… as long as one of us is alive, and you should know the truth."

"I know," she said softly.

"How?"

"Well, obviously, not the severity of it – but that you weren't likely to recover," she said softly. "Jo and Malcolm were really shaken by your condition and I just assumed that they didn't know how bad it really was."

"I'm sorry for lying to you –"

"You didn't."

"I lied by omission."

"And now you've told me the truth and that's not scaring me off," she reminded him gently. "I'm not going anywhere."

Lucy ran into the kitchen, giggling. "Granpa, I'm hungry," she said.

"Well, how about we order a pizza?" Harry suggested, releasing Ruth's hand and reaching for Lucy's instead.

"But we're havin' sketti?" Lucy reminded him. "I want sketti."

"Spaghetti it is," Ruth said. "Harry, do you want me to –"

"No, I'll be fine," he dismissed. "Lucy, why don't you help Ruth make a salad?" he suggested.

"Is Roofth my granny?" Lucy asked.

Harry smiled at Ruth for a moment, then turned his attention to his granddaughter. "Not yet," he said. "But if you ask her very nicely, she might say yes."

Lucy dutifully turned to Ruth and said, "Roofth, will you be my granny and marry my Granpa?"

"I would love to be your granny, sweetheart," Ruth said softly. "And can I tell you a secret?"

"Is it a big secret? Grandpa doesn't know? Grandpa knows all the secrets –"

"It's the biggest secret I know," Ruth said with a small smile that lit up her face. Lucy dropped Harry's hand and went over so Ruth could whisper the secret to her. Lucy's eyes widened and her smile grew. "Now, let's go make that salad, little miss."

"What did you tell her?" Harry asked.

Ruth's smirk was smug. "It's a secret, Harry. You'll have to wait to find out."

"I know a secret you don't know," Lucy said in a sing-song voice as she went to the fridge to get a head of lettuce out of the drawer.

"Insufferable," Harry grumbled, but he was smiling as he did so.

Catherine breezed into the room with a smile on her lips. "What's for dinner?" she asked.

"Sketti!" Lucy crowed excitedly.

A small bit of anxiety still clung on for good measure, but Harry allowed himself to feel for the moment that they had made some kind of a semblance of a family together; yes, they were fractured and flawed, but they were going to make it work. This was going to be his lasting achievement. Not the safety of the Realm, not the stability world politics, but this… his family, sitting down to dinner together.

He looked up to see Hope hovering in the doorway, looking unsure. He beckoned her forward with a smile and said, "Do you want to know how to make an excellent pasta sauce, Hope?" When she nodded, he said, "Never use a recipe – not even a sacred Italian granny's recipe. And always use fresh vegetables. Always. And garlic is something you measure by heart – and by smell." He gently walked her through what he'd done so far, and then took a step back. "Now, you want to watch that for a few minutes so I can sit down?"

Hope nodded. "I can do that, dad," she said softly.

He dropped into a chair next to Catherine at the table, and watched her going over the bills and prioritizing what needed to be paid first. And, for a moment, he thought that this must be what Heaven was like.

* * *

They were married at City Hall in a civil service that had been hastily arranged by pulling on many strings. Harry was beaming with joy, pride, and all the things that made him look very smug in spite of himself. Ruth found herself wondering if he'd thought ahead to more practical things or if he was allowing himself to indulge in the moment.

Either way, she was happy – not earth-shatteringly cock-a-hoop over-the-moon, but she was content. Almost everything she'd wanted and dared to hope for was coming to pass, and she was afraid to wish for much more, lest the sky fall on her head.

As they took a cab home, Ruth stared down at the wedding band on her finger, and thought she should probably chide Harry for wasting so much money on her. The ring was hammered rose gold with small but beautiful diamonds inset around the entirety of the band. His ring was a very simple brushed titanium, but he wore it with just as much pride as any man could after being shackled to someone else.

"Are you sure we can afford this ring?" Ruth spoke up softly, twisting her ring around her finger repeatedly, nervously.

His smile faltered, then the grumpy git mask slid back into place. "Would it make a difference if I told you that I've had that ring for over a decade?" he asked tetchily.

"Yes, but… it's frivolous," she sighed. "I don't need big tokens of –"

"I bought it because it reminded me of you," he said quickly, looking away out the window. "Because I needed something to remind me that I was going to find you and – come hell or high water – marry you."

She bit her lip and looked down at her hands. "It's lovely," she said softly, "and I love it."

She looked up when he slid his hand over hers, holding it gently. "I love you, Ruth."

She bit back a smile, then said with a perfectly straight face, "Lady Pearce – I'll have you know, I'm married to a Knight of the Realm."

"Sod him and run away with me," he teased, deadpan.

"I rather like him," she shot back, curling her fingers around his, threading them together. "Have I told you yet how much I love you?"

"It was implied," he replied with a little smirk, his good humor beginning to return.

She leaned over and gave him a kiss that was soft, gentle, and just this side of inappropriate. "It should never be implied," Ruth breathed.

"I think I like how you're thinking…" He paused, then cleared his throat. "Are you all right? I mean, really. I know it hurt you very badly yesterday when they asked you to leave the school."

Ruth shrugged and sighed a little. It had been humiliating; she had spoken to the principal, who had taken the matter to the school board, who had recommended immediate termination of her contract based on the fact that she'd committed identity fraud and had no qualifications at all as Ruth Evershed to continue teaching. After everything she had given, everything she had built for herself, it all tumbled down when they found out she was living under an alias. "I'm fine," she said very quietly.

"Ruth…"

"Harry, do you ever feel like… you've given so much of yourself that there's nothing left?"

"Sometimes."

"I'm fine, really. But I don't know what's going to happen next. I don't have a job, I was living check to check… I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You're going to have breakfast in bed with your husband tomorrow," he said gently. "Might just be toaster pastries, but my plan is to hold you hostage for the next couple of days and after that, we'll talk about money and work and all of the frivolous things like that."

"Not exactly frivolous," she murmured. The cab pulled up outside the brownstone and Harry paid the cabbie, tipping very generously – more than to a fault. Ruth flinched, remembering that she only had about $15 in her account, but she held her tongue. Harry wasn't worried, so neither should she be, right?

He slid out of the car behind her, grunting and struggling to get his bearings. She steadied him and held him tightly, afraid to let go – afraid of being powerless in this new situation they found themselves in, where he was clearly the dominant presence and she was just… fluff.

He let her help him up the steps to the front door, then inside and up to the main floor. He collapsed into his chair, white lines of exhaustion etched into his face. "Do you need anything?" she murmured. "Painkillers? You've pushed it all day."

"Please," he said, not fighting her. When she came back through with a glass of water and his pain pills, he said, "Did I tell you how beautiful you are? How happy I am that you agreed to marry me?"

"Liar," she accused softly without a shred of malice.

"I wouldn't dare," he rejoined with a small smile. "I don't want you to worry about anything for a few days, Ruth – not money, not… what's for dinner, not anything at all."

"That's a tall order, Harry," she said. "Especially when there's so much I need to be worrying about – like Hope's biology study group and Jason Donovan… I can't just turn it off." She sat down on the sofa and watched him take his pill, her brow furrowing. "I've lived my life on the run with her in tow for so long I don't know if I can turn off the instinct to… to just go to ground."

"If you feel you must go to ground, would you please involve me in your decision making so I can at least tag along?" he commented dryly.

"Really?" she chuckled. "You should see some of the places we've had to live in, Harry – you're too posh to lift the toilet lid. It's not easy, uprooting and running and starting over again. And once you've started… it's in your head. You always have to be one step ahead of the people you're trying to avoid. I made that mistake once: I'll never make it again willingly." She reached up and rubbed her cheek, fingertips gliding and catching over the changing textures of her scars. "I was naïve enough to think you might show up and everything would be right with the world again… for about a year. Then I had to make it on my own – I had Hope in tow and everything was so _hard_."

He was frowning, scowling really, when she looked back up at him. "Everything felt wrong without you there," Harry finally said, breaking the awkward silence between them. "Every day, I wanted to wake up from the nightmare I was living in and have you walk through the pods again. I don't think I ever…" He shook his head and sighed. "No, I'm not going to – not now. It doesn't matter, Ruth," he said firmly, holding his hand up when she would have protested. "I looked for you once in the second year, but you'd already left behind the legends Malcolm crafted for you, so it did me no good. You have no idea how much I needed to know you were alive, if not safe –"

She swallowed hard and mumbled, "I sent a package from Chile before I went to California. To you. Or, rather, to the last home address I had for you."

"You did?"

She nodded, biting her lip nervously. "It was just a bubblemailer with a stuffed penguin in," Ruth murmured. "And Zoe helped me slip a photo of Hope in the gap between the envelope and the bubblewrap."

He stared at her for the longest time, sudden heartbreak coloring his face. "Oh god, I thought that was – I thought it was one of Zoe's girls and I – my god, Ruth, I'm so sorry… I'm so, so sorry –"

"You got it, then?" she said.

"I got it – I had no idea –"

"I tried to tell you we were okay," she whispered. "I should have done more."

"No, darling, you couldn't. Not without risking your safety and Hope's. I should have been less stupid and seen it for what it was, not…" He sighed and flipped down the footrest of the recliner. He stood up with a grunt of pain, but he gestured for her to sit back down. "Do you want a cuppa? I need a sweet tea."

"Harry, you don't have to –"

"Ruth, I've continually made a hash of everything between us for over a decade – the least I can do is make you a cup of tea."

"I'm more used to coffee now," she said with a sad smile. "Tea just wasn't enough with a colicky baby who never did sleep the night through – even now, she wakes up every couple or three hours."

"Then coffee," he said. "I owe you at least a cup of coffee."

"You don't owe me anything," Ruth said.

"But I do, Ruth – you were in exile because of me…"

"I chose to do that," she said, mulishly stubborn. "It was the right thing to do, Harry."

"I don't know if that is true or just wishful thinking," he said. "You've raised our daughter on your own, running like the hounds of Hell are on your heels… I owe you a debt that I can never even begin to repay, Ruth."

She shrugged a little and tried to be cheeky. "Well, you did make a bit of a start on it today, didn't you? Marriage is a big step, Harry."

"Our biggest step was getting past the awkward stage," Harry said softly. "After our first date, I mean."

She blushed and murmured, "You showed up on my doorstep with wine and flowers and were very persuasive."

"I was afraid you would chuck me out into the street."

She shook her head and whispered, "I was already head over heels in love with you – completely inappropriate, mind you – and you were very, very charming that night."

"Three weeks," he said quietly. "We only had three weeks together."

"But now we have the rest of our lives," she pointed out.

A lazy smile graced his lips. "I rather like the sound of that."

"I thought you might," she teased. "Now, about that coffee…?"

"Ah, yes, coffee – I don't know how you take yours…"

"Black, no sugar, no dairy," Ruth replied automatically. "It's the only way to go when you need a desperate fix."

He shuffled into the kitchen and called over his shoulder, "I'm not entirely sure I approve of Hope drinking coffee as young as she is –"

"It's mostly milk," Ruth admitted, following him into the kitchen. "She just wanted to share with me, so I started off just splashing a tiny bit of coffee in a mug of milk."

Harry puttered with the Keurig, then filled the electric kettle with water and got it going. "She's a good kid; you've done a good job with her," he said. "And I'm just mucking it all up. Again."

"It's always just been the two of us against the world," Ruth commented lowly. "It's a huge adjustment to have you in her life – I don't know how well I'd have taken it if I were in her shoes. You are very… forceful."

He flinched. "I don't mean to be overbearing."

"You're very commanding and dominant," she pointed out. "And I'm not. Hope gets away with a lot because I don't have it in my heart to break her spirit like mine was at her age. I want her to know what it's like to be happy before the world shatters her."

"Am I… do I…" He sloshed hot water from the kettle into a mug with two teabags in. "Ruth, did I bully you into marrying me?" The question was small, tiny, frightened. She had never heard him like that and never wanted to hear it again.

"No, of course not," she scoffed. "Harry, you aren't like that – you aren't a bully. You know what you think is best and you know what pressure to apply to get results. Unfortunately, our daughter doesn't respond well to that kind of persuasion. I know you, dear heart, and I know you don't mean to be so brutally forceful as you are most of the time." She came over and stroked his arm gently. "Are you really worried about –"

"I wasn't a good father or a good husband, before," he said in a tone bleak as midwinter. "It took a lot to make that work. I can't guarantee that I'll be any better now." His knuckles were white where they gripped the countertop. "I don't want you and Hope to think that I – "

"I think we judge ourselves much more harshly than anyone else does," Ruth murmured, leaning into his back and holding him around the waist. "I wouldn't have married you if I didn't want to, Harry – and I do, with every fiber of my being, want to be your wife. Your lover. Everything we've not been able to be for so long because I had to leave."

Her coffee finished brewing and he plucked the hot mug from the Keurig and set it on the counter to cool. "Ruth… I'm sorry. For leaving you and Hope out there, alone. For… not trying harder to find you. For not being the best father I can be to our daughter. For… hell, for being a crippled old man. You deserve better than me."

"I don't want anyone but you," Ruth said stubbornly, kissing his shoulder blade. "So you can stop being a moody git now."

"I'm not a moody git," he muttered with a scowl.

She tickled him a little and murmured, "Did you forget your antidepressant this morning?"

"Ha-ha, wifey."

"Mmm, I like that," Ruth purred against his shoulder. "I've waited ages to be called your wife."

The smile returned to his face and voice. "I love you, Ruth."

"And I love you, Harry." She released her hold on him and moved to grab her coffee. "Perfect," she proclaimed. "Nice and dark like my soul."

Harry had just finished plucking the teabags out of his mug when she'd so glibly thrown that out. "You're a fucking angel of light, Ruth," he countered softly, throwing in a couple sugar cubes. "Don't shit a true demon: you're a marshmallow."

She smirked; he didn't need to know that she'd killed two MI-6 officers while escaping custody… _If you can't destroy them, fuck them harder than they'll fuck you_. For Harry, though, she would be a sweet, fluffy marshmallow.

_His_ sweet, fluffy marshmallow.


	11. Chapter 11

I apologize: it completely escaped my mind that I hadn't posted this chapter.

* * *

11:

* * *

Hope startled at the strangled noise behind her as Zaf literally shoved Jason Donovan into the plate glass of the side façade of the Rubin Museum of Art. When she turned around, she tried to hide a smile, but couldn't do it – her bodyguard had her best interests at heart, after all.

"What part of leave her alone do you not comprehend?" Zaf inquired. "If you continue stalking Miss Pearce, I will be forced to get law enforcement involved, and, to be frank, I don't give a fuck who your father is – there will be a restraining order filed. I had thought you might be smart enough to back off and behave like a human being, but I guess I was wrong."

"Hey, man, I can't help it if I like her –"

Hope heard the plaintive whine in his voice, the immaturity, the blatant… the blatant submission to the authority of someone who was a hell of a lot angrier than she was, and suddenly everything made sense to her with a stark clarity. She took three steps toward Zaf, who held his hand up to indicate that she stay put right where she was.

So, for the first time ever, she raised her voice. "If you liked me, you could have told me so instead of humiliating me and dehumanizing me and making me feel like I don't even belong to myself in my own skin! You didn't have to force me to have sex with you – or follow me like a fucking tosser! That isn't liking someone – that's wanting to make someone your inferior so you have a little pet to play with all the time. And you know what? You probably learned that from your dad, didn't you? Does he like to make your mom scared so she does everything he wants her to without asking questions? Does he hurt her for fun? Does he make you watch him humiliate and hurt her so you know just what to do, Jason? That isn't right. That isn't what love is – _that's __**SICK**_. _That's __**WRONG**_!" She took a deep breath and looked to Zaf for encouragement – he was smiling, a feral, smug smile that meant she was definitely on the right track.

"You don't know shit about my dad," Jason snapped.

"Maybe not, but you don't know shit about my dad, either," Hope hissed.

"You don't have a dad – your dad has never been around –"

"He didn't have to be!" Hope shouted. "Because my mom knew how to raise me to be a decent human being who doesn't stalk and rape people! And besides, my dad was doing a very important job saving the stupid assholes in the world just like you who don't deserve it – and he's a good man. He never stopped loving my mom, not the entire time they were apart. And he loves me, too, even though I'm nobody important. So fuck you, Jason. _**Fuck you**_. If you come at me again, I'm going to make you wish you were never born. I've got evidence from when you raped me. I've got people who will testify that you've been stalking and harassing me. You don't like me; you think you can use me and spit me out and you know what? It isn't going to happen. I am not your plaything and I am not your toy. I don't belong to anyone. Fuck. You." The last two words were said with such quiet conviction she was scared they hadn't really come from her lips. She didn't know where she was going to find the courage to do all the things she needed to do to hurt him, but having Zaf there was making her feel bold, secure for the first time in months.

"Mate, I think you'd better run along home before I do something I might regret," Zaf warned, releasing Jason from the chokehold he was in against the glass. "Go on, run along home and tell your daddy all about how you've fucked up –"

After Jason scurried off, Zaf faced Hope and said, "You okay, kiddo?"

Hope nodded. "I'm fine. Better than fine. I'm scared shitless… and my heart's racing and I've never been so angry with someone in my life – but I'm okay."

Zaf nodded. "That will be the adrenaline rush – we'd better get you home before it wears off and you get too tired," he instructed. "Get a move on, kiddo. You know your parents got married today?"

"What?"

"You didn't know?"

She shook her head. "Nobody tells me anything anymore." Hope took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush. "What does that mean, though? Mom and Harry are married, so… what does that mean? For me?"

They started walking quickly down the street, Zaf watching around them like a hawk for any possible disturbances. He had his arm protectively around her shoulders in case Jason decided to double back and do something stupid, and even though she hated being touched, in this case, it brought her some measure of comfort.

"It means that your parents still love each other," he said. "And that Harry wants to protect you and your mum."

"How does them being married protect us?" Hope asked, honestly curious.

"Well, for a start, it means that Harry is your dad for real, legally, now," Zaf began. "Not just a bit of a name on paper. Now he can help make decisions about your welfare – if you get hurt and are in hospital, he can help the doctors make medical decisions for you. If something happens and you get into legal trouble, he can advocate as your father. If he dies… your mum will be legally entitled to a few things like his pension, bank accounts, etc., prior to the will being read. It's not a lot, but it's very important to Harry that you and Ruth be taken care of in whatever way he can."

"I don't understand why that's so important to him," Hope said.

Zaf's face changed then, softening around the edges a little, losing the hardness of concentration. "Look, I don't know how much you know about your parents –"

"Nothing," Hope said honestly. "Mom doesn't like to talk about anything but me and work. And I don't know Harry… dad… well enough to ask him anything."

"Okay, well, I'm going to tell you some things but you can't repeat them to anyone. Not even your parents, because you aren't supposed to know," he warned. "Before you were born, your parents worked for the British Security Services. Do you know what that means?"

"Is it like the CIA?"

"Kind of," Zaf acknowledged. "Harry was the head of Section D, tasked with dealing with internal terrorism and plots against the Crown on British soil, and your mum was an analyst within Section D – she's the one who made sure we had all the information we needed to understand what was happening."

"Mom was a spy?"

"Well, kind of, but not like a proper spy. Like someone who was spying on information, yes."

Hope nodded, unsurprised – it wasn't at all out of character when she thought about it. Her mother was always observing, always paying attention to all the little details. "Okay," she said. "I… can see it."

"Your mum and dad fell in love, but they didn't do anything about it for a really long time. And once they did, something happened and your mum had to make a choice – either she could stay and keep fighting the good fight, or your dad could stay and keep watch over things. She chose to leave because Harry had more experience and more clout and could do things she couldn't. She didn't want to leave England, Hope, and she didn't want to leave your dad. After she was gone, Harry just… wasn't Harry anymore. He was half there and half wherever your mum was, at least in his thoughts. He never stopped loving your mum. Not for a moment. That's why they got married today – because your mum feels the same way about Harry, and always has done."

Hope knew that he was telling her the honest truth, as much as he could. "He didn't know about me," she said with quiet certainty. "Not till a couple weeks ago. Nobody knew about me, did they?"

"No, your mum kept you safe from everything as much as she could," Zaf said. "She was probably scared that someone would figure it out and take you – and there was nothing she could do about it but hide you."

"But why would somebody take me?" Hope asked. "I'm not important –"

"No, but your mum and dad know things," Zaf said very quietly. "Things that people are willing to kill to know. Someone could try to take you to influence either – or both – of your parents to reveal things that they shouldn't. Which is why I'm here – not just to protect you from your stalker rapist, but to protect you in case something happens."

"Did… did Harry ask you to do that?"

He nodded and smiled a little. "Yeah, he did, kiddo."

"He shows people he loves them by protecting them?"

"Yeah, that's pretty much it."

Hope nodded, understanding her dad a lot more than she had. "Are you going to get in trouble for telling me this stuff?"

"Only if you rat on me," Zaf countered.

"Zaf, has my dad always been so…"

"Moody? Aloof? Emotionally constipated? Hard to deal with?"

"Okay, I guess I don't even have to finish my question because you already answered it."

"Yeah, but… your mum? She helps with that – smooths his edges, makes him more tolerable," Zaf said. "Just give it a little time, okay? I don't think Harry knows what to do with you or how to love you because he's probably feeling very guilty about how your mum had to leave. Just know that he does love you because you're your mum's little girl, and you're his. There's no question that you're his daughter, Hope. Just… be patient."

"Mom says patience isn't exactly my virtue," Hope admitted.

"Yeah, I think that's just another way of her telling you that you're like your dad," Zaf said, grinning. "Okay, we're here," he added unnecessarily, gesturing at the stoop of the brownstone. "You're a good kid, Hope – just remember that you're stronger than you think you are. And you fight smart."

"Thanks, Zaf," Hope said, running up the steps as she fished her key out of her pocket.

* * *

"How was school?" Harry asked. Hope hadn't said much during dinner and he was trying, unsuccessfully, to draw her out of her shell. Catherine and Lucy had gone out for dinner with Adam, which, if he had to be honest, wasn't exactly reassuring him, but it gave him time alone with Ruth and Hope, so… trade off?

"Fine," Hope said. "I aced the end of book test in AP English Lit, so… I guess my GPA lives to fight another day."

"Unsurprising," Ruth commented softly. "That you aced it, I mean – weren't you reading Persuasion?"

"Yeah," Hope said.

"It's one of your favorites," Ruth reminded her gently.

"Yeah, but they overanalyze it and it's not fun anymore," Hope sighed.

Harry bit his lip to keep back his observation that his relationship with Ruth somewhat paralleled the plot of the novel and maybe that's why it wasn't fun for her anymore. He was under no illusion that his daughter was as delighted with him as her mother was.

"Unfortunately, that's academia for you," Harry said. "Overpick and analyze everything to death and suck the life and soul out of things."

Ruth smiled a little. "Your dad was a bit more of a party animal at university than an academic," she explained.

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of Hope's mouth, and she said, "But he's so serious now."

"Life happened," Harry explained, "and there was a steep learning curve."

She accepted the simple explanation for his gravitas, looking back down at her dinner. "You guys got married today," she said.

Harry's fork stopped, covered in leafy greens from his salad bowl, just before his mouth, and he set the implement aside, not wanting to be distracted now that the conversation had shifted. "Yes," he said simply.

Hope looked up at Ruth for confirmation, which she got with a small nod as Ruth went back to eating. "Why?" she asked, eyes trained on Harry. "You haven't been around for a really long time. Why do you think you can just show up and do stuff like that?"

"Hope, don't be rude," Ruth pleaded through a bite of sweet potato mash.

"No, she's right," Harry said. "It must seem like it's sudden to her, when to us, it's just… the fulfillment of the desires we shared many years ago, Ruth." He reached across the table to pat her hand – hopefully comfortingly and not condescendingly. "Hope, I don't know how much you know about your mum and me…"

"Nothing," Hope said. "I know nothing. She doesn't talk to me about you because it hurts her to much, and you haven't told me anything except you love her. And that doesn't mean much."

Harry exhaled heavily. "Well, there are a lot of things we can't tell you, but… your mother and I used to work together. We went out for a few weeks, but I'd like to think we'd never have stopped if your mum hadn't had to leave. I wanted everything, Hope – marriage, children, a happy home with your mum. Instead, the real world set me on my ass; I didn't have your mum, I didn't have a home – just a house, and I didn't even know about you. So, yes, it seems like we rushed into things, but we didn't – not really."

"Okay, well… what about me?" she asked. "How do I fit into this mess?"

"You're our daughter," Ruth said. "How do you think you fit in?"

"I don't know, mom – I don't know," Hope said, looking back down at her plate.

"You're the most important part of our life together," Harry said, his voice catching in his throat. "While we need one another, we also need you, Hope."

She fell silent, still staring into her dinner. "I know you worked in the Security Services," she said. "Zaf told me that much. But I don't understand why you're both lying to me."

"I can't tell you everything you want to know," he sighed. "I'm trying not to lie to you, though."

Hope poked at her dinner glumly. "Yeah, okay," she said with a sarcastic note to her tone. "I get it. Secrets and things you can't tell me about. I get it." She shoved away from the table and said, "Sorry, I need to go get some air."

"In the yard," Harry snapped. "You can't go out without Zaf."

"You know what? I could do things before you came along," Hope said sharply. "Mom wasn't worried I was going to get murdered or… whatever."

"Enough," Ruth said, her voice breaking. "Stop it, both of you, please."

Harry didn't know what to do, how to unstick the situation, so he did what Ruth wanted, falling absolutely silent. He grabbed his fork and began eating again, trying very hard not to look as miserable as he felt. Obviously, he couldn't do anything right by his daughter, so what was the point in trying?

"But mom –"

"I won't have it, Hope," Ruth snapped. "Enough is enough. Your father and I got married. End of."

Hope growled something indistinguishable and ran off. They could hear a door slamming behind her, and Harry just hoped that if she went outside, she was smart enough to take her coat with her.

"That didn't go well," Ruth muttered.

"No," he agreed. "It did not."

"Can't you at least _try_ with her?" Ruth asked, sighing in exasperation.

"I am trying, despite all my limitations – which you know so very well," he countered. "I'm just not adequate enough to handle a teenaged girl, apparently."

Ruth sighed and finished the last of her food. "I'm going to go find her –"

"No, leave it," he said softly. "Eventually, we will have to tell her everything. But not now."

"Why not now?" she countered. "She's trying to understand, Harry – she doesn't understand why her mum, who has never in her lifetime shown any interest in anyone but her, suddenly can't live without this man, this… interloper in their relationship. She doesn't understand. We're meant to teach her, to show her… everything we can."

"Yes, but not now," Harry repeated, toying with his mash. "We got married today, Ruth, and we're worrying that our daughter doesn't understand what it means, when we should be worried that neither of us really understand what it means."

"It means we're a proper family now," Ruth muttered. "And we can't neglect even one of ours for a moment, Harry. Not a moment."

The door slammed again, and Hope moved around downstairs before stomping back up to the dining room. "I know you're spies," she spat angrily. "I know that mom had to leave England because of you. What I don't know is why you got married now, if there's still a danger that either – or both of you – could be taken and tortured for information. You aren't safer together: you're more vulnerable this way. You're more vulnerable because you love each other – and me. So why?"

"To protect you," Harry said, astounded that Hope had put so many pieces together so quickly. Clearly, he had underestimated her intelligence – a mistake he would have to rectify. "And your mum."

Hope scowled at him for a long moment, then said, "How exactly does that work, Harry?"

"If I die, you and your mum will inherit a portion of my estate. You have somewhere to live, food in your belly, medical insurance…"

Ruth snorted. "Harry…"

"I love you," he muttered, glaring at his child with as much venom as she was shooting in his direction. "All right? I love you and I need you to understand that I am trying to protect you and your mother right now, as much as I can! And one of the ways I can do that is by marriage. It's barbaric, but there it is. Your mum is not my possession, and neither are you – you're both free to go any time you want, or need, to. But I'm asking – begging – your consideration before you do."

"I'm not going anywhere," Ruth said firmly. "Not again." She reached over and clutched his hand tightly, weaving their fingers together. "I'm not running away again, Harry."

Hope watched them for a long time, then she said – with deep resignation in her tone, "Why didn't you just tell me? Why can't you talk to me?"

"Because I'm not good at… this. All this emotional crap," Harry muttered. "How can I tell you how I feel when I can't even tell your mum how I feel about her? We've been together for…"

"Sixteen years," Ruth supplied. "There never was anyone else, Harry."

"And we've known each other for close to nineteen years," he continued, "and I still can't tell her how I feel."

"You don't have to," Ruth said softly, squeezing his hand. "I know, Harry."

Hope slumped into her chair and sighed. "I don't know what to do – how I'm supposed to feel about any of this," she admitted quietly.

"Neither do we," Harry said.

"It's all very… new and scary," Ruth added.

"But we're family," Harry said firmly. "And no one gets left behind, Hope. No one."

* * *

The close quarters of the produce shop meant that Harry didn't realize he'd been tagged until the barrel of a gun pressed into his back. "Put the juice back and head to the door," the man said with accented English. "You don't have a choice, Mr. Pearce, so do as you're told."

Harry bit back a laugh of ironic pain; he'd been protecting Ruth and his family, but he had seemingly neglected his own security. Seemingly being the operative word. His ace in the hole was busy wandering the Chelsea Market, trying to blend in before he followed them. The gun in his ribs was enough to make him walk, slowly and steadily, with his captor.

So…

Now the trap was tripped, he wondered how long he was going to have to put up with the man's halitosis.

He wasn't scared to die, not anymore. Not after all he had seen, all he had done. If he had to die, he would embrace Death as an old friend, rather than a foe.

But he wanted to live; for Hope's sake, for Ruth's sake, for Lucy and Catherine and Graham and Peter… he wanted badly to live.

Twenty minutes later, he knew.

He knew with a sick sense of dread that he wasn't going to get out of the warehouse alive.

He just hoped that Ruth wasn't going to allow herself to be captured. Because he couldn't bear the thought of her seeing him die.

A gun was pressed roughly to his temple. "I'll make your choice simple, Harry. You tell me where the uranium is. You have no other option. You have no choices."

Harry licked his lips and said, "There is always another option."

Mani's smile was cold, igniting anger in his eyes. "Bring me the wife," he said. "Perhaps she will be more amenable."

"Leave my wife out of this –"

"You know what's ironic, Harry? Your little band of misfits are so inept they couldn't follow the breadcrumb trail. I wasn't even trying to hide."

Bits and pieces fell together, the puzzle finally complete in his head. Mani had been after Ruth all of this time. _Shit_._** SHIT**_.

He had led her right up to the altar like a lamb to the slaughter.


	12. Chapter 12

12:

* * *

"Trackers are active; he's on the move," came the voice down the comms line.

"Oh, yeah, I meant to ask… exactly how –"

"The juice, Ms. Lawrence. Every day, he drinks three bottles of fresh juice dosed with nanotrackers that are activated by entry into the large intestine."

Rose stifled a groan. "Of course, the juice… I did think it was odd that Harry was on a health kick, rather than his usual whiskey diet –"

"God knows, the man could stand to lose some weight with both of his knees buggered to hell and back," the man said with a bitter laugh. "Looks like they're in Brooklyn – waterfront warehouse."

"How long do you think we should wait before we go –"

"I don't mean to interrupt your scintillating discussion about Falcon's bowels, but Songbird just left the nest; Theta Two, please tell me that you've got eyes on Dove?"

"Dove is in class."

"And the other two?"

"Class."

"Class."

Ros took a deep breath and said, "Well… how long is long enough to wait to close a ten year operation?"

A bark of laughter came down the line. "Gotta be at least an hour."

"You really think we need to wait an hour?"

"I don't think we should wait at all," Ros said, "but we don't know what they'll do if they think we're incoming. So, yes, we need to wait just a little longer." She gritted her teeth and side-eyed Malcolm, who nodded his agreement. "Not long. But long enough."

Tom Quinn said, "Well, whatever you plan on doing, Ms. Lawrence, you'd better get ready to do it. You might have been working your side for ten years, but if Falcon knew you weren't chomping at the bit to get him out of there… I sure as hell wouldn't want to be in your shoes."

"I'd like to see you try to walk in my shoes for a day, Mr. Quinn," Ros sniped. "Rendezvous in ten at Doghouse 3, everyone but Theta Three, Six, and Four. Bring your weapons and your best smiles."

* * *

"Harry," Ruth said softly as she was propelled none-too-gently into a chair in the room, barely out of arm's reach of her husband. He looked to be relatively unharmed – the only thing wrong with him being a thin cut above his right eye, oozing blood. "Are you –"

"Fine," he dismissed. "If you've harmed her in any way –"

"You'll what?" Mani taunted with a smirk.

"I'll kill you," Harry growled darkly.

"That, Harry, I would like to see," Mani said with a laugh. He turned to Ruth, flicking an invisible piece of lint off his cuff. "Now, onto business. The two of you know the location of something that doesn't belong to you and never did. I want it back."

Ruth tilted her head, lifting her jaw and smirking. "Ah, yes, the uranium," she said.

Mani chuckled. "She's very clever, Harry – too good for the likes of you."

Ruth stared at Harry for a long moment, willing him to understand that she was playing the long game. "Oh, I don't know," Ruth drawled lazily. "Besides, who wouldn't want to have their hands on a little chunk of uranium these days? You, the Russians, the Americans…"

Harry grunted and shifted in his seat. "Mani, I'm not going to tell you where the uranium is. Because I don't know."

"Oh, Harry, I hate to make a liar of you, but your little wife being here just proves it – she knows that you do know where it is and came to make a deal," Mani pointed out.

Ruth just kept smirking; if she didn't, the façade would be broken and he would know that she was bluffing. She was banking on Harry having moved the uranium multiple times after she had gone into exile and that he had told Ros where he had moved it to – if not having had her move it in the first place. She didn't know shit, and having to prove it could be utterly catastrophic.

"Ruth," Harry said warningly.

"Harry, the last thing I want is to lose you now," Ruth commented dryly, off-handed, fumbling with her ziptied hands, twisting her ring round and round in a nervous gesture he would recognize as something other than a physical tic. His expression changed then, his jaw twitching as he tensed and slid a furtive glance Mani's way. "Not when we've finally gotten almost everything we've ever wanted."

"Almost everything?" Harry said with a raised brow.

She shrugged. "Still haven't gotten that new mattress delivered yet," Ruth said softly.

"It was meant to arrive this afternoon," he said.

"Ah, well… c'est la vie," she murmured.

"Enough with the charming domestic scenes," Mani interjected. "Tell me where the uranium is or I will… retrieve… your daughter by force and bring her here. I do rather despise the sound of screaming – it sets my teeth on edge. But needs must."

"If you touch my daughter –" Harry began.

"Harry, do stop being melodramatic," Ruth snapped. "You aren't bloody King Lear."

"Why would you marry a man like that?" Mani questioned with a laugh. "He's pathetic."

Ruth looked at Harry for a long time, then said, "Because you can't choose who you love, and you aren't meant to try." Harry opened his mouth, but she was already moving, snapping the zipties with extreme force from her foot, whirling around, tossing her guard and taking his gun in the same motion, three shots – one, two, three – headshots for each of the three men who had been their captors. When her brain caught up to her body, she was breathing unevenly and she had a searing pain in her shoulder where the second guard had managed to get a shot off accidentally.

Harry was staring at her in something akin to horror tinged with wonder, and she primly sat back down on her chair, kicking Mani's body out of her way. Only a few seconds later came the sound of steps in the corridor and shouts of, "Put your hands in the air!"

"If you don't mind, I don't think I will," Ruth called back in a pained voice. "I've been shot."

Ros and several other agents she didn't recognize burst into the room, checking everything over. Ros herself poked Mani with her boot, rolling him over with a sneer before she leaned in to look at Ruth's wound. "You'll live, but you'll definitely want a hospital," Ros commented. "Nice to see you, by the way – you've led us on a merry chase."

Harry found his voice, finally. "Ruth… where did you learn – we don't teach that –"

"School of hard knocks," Ruth ground out. "And YouTube."

Ros laughed in disbelief. "Seriously?"

"There are detailed videos of how to escape ziptie bonds," Ruth explained. "I know about ten different ways, depending on the size of the ties." She winced. "Are you just keeping me talking to keep me from thinking about how much this hurts?"

"Maybe just a bit," Ros said. "Harry, you okay over there?"

"I'm fine," Harry said gruffly. "Erin, would you stop bloody fussing? I'm fine. My wife is the one who –"

"I'm fine," Ruth grunted. "No worse than I've had before." It was a lie; she'd never been shot before, and it bloody well hurt. The raw anguish of having had her face cut to bits was a whole different league of pain. "Harry – I'll be fine," she assured him, meeting his gaze for the first time since Ros had started trying to staunch the blood flowing from her shoulder.

He shook off the brunette – Erin? – and lurched forward, trying to reach Ruth. She sighed and said, "I promise, Harry –"

"You've been shot," he said simply. "You're bleeding heavily. You are in no condition to tell me you're going to be fine." He held her good hand tightly and pressed his forehead against hers. "You… you took such a risk, Ruth – I don't know what I would do if I lost you again."

"I knew there was a tracker somewhere either on you or me – I just didn't know where," she exhaled.

"Harry doesn't drink all that juice for nothing," Ros quipped.

"Liquid nanotracker," Harry said with a sigh. "And your ring. It's hidden beneath one of the diamonds."

That gave her pause; the insidious seeds of doubt were already rooted in her mind, and now she had reason to let them flourish. "So this was all about getting me to wear the ring," Ruth ground out through clenched teeth. "No wonder you pushed marriage so hard, Harry. It's not as if you actually wanted to –"

"Ruth," he said very softly, gently placing his hand over the scars on her face, keeping her eyes on him when she would have looked away. "Needs must. We exploited what was already there, what I could never hide, what I would never wish to change. It doesn't change anything. My feelings are the same. Have yours changed?"

"No."

"It wasn't for show." The words were soft and full of conviction. "None of this has ever been for show – except maybe the ring. It isn't what I would have bought for you and I am sorry for lying about that."

Black spots were starting to encroach on Ruth's vision and she was fighting to stay conscious – she knew the wound wasn't life-threatening, but she was slipping into shock. The last time she had felt like that, she'd been wandering in the street with her face torn to shreds.

"We'll get another," she choked out, leaning against Harry's touch. "I don't… feel so… fantastic."

"Ambulance is two minutes out," one of the agents said.

"She's lost a lot of blood," the one called Erin said. "Do we know her blood type?"

"O negative," Harry said gruffly. "Right, sweetheart?"

Ruth nodded and swallowed hard, fighting hard to stay in control.

"I'm O negative," one of the agents said. "Anyone up for a spontaneous blood transfusion?"

"Dimitri, do you think that's wise?" Ros asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No wiser than letting Harry Pearce's wife bleed out waiting for an ambulance," the agent said with a crooked smirk.

"There's been a delay in the ambulance – closer to seven minutes now. Detour," the other agent said.

"Looks like we don't have much choice," Dimitri said. "Tariq, you've got the field kit – Erin, don't give me that sour lemon face. Ros, please tell her to stop looking like she sucked a lemon."

Ros rolled her eyes and sighed. "Harry, be glad you retired. Ruth, I need you to focus on Harry – he's going to apply pressure to your shoulder and I'm going to hook you and Dimitri up for a direct blood transfer. Believe it or not, this is not my first time doing this." She looked at Harry, then nodded. Ros's hands moved and Harry's replaced them, strong, steady, sure.

Ruth whispered, "I'm sorry, Harry."

"For what?"

"For doubting you – us –"

"Your daughter is going to kill me when she finds out what's happened," Harry said.

"Our daughter," she corrected.

"Ah, but when she's cross, she's all you," Harry said softly, trying to keep her focused. "All logic and fact and just enough emotion to twist the knife."

"She's a good girl," Ruth sighed, "but… with everything…"

"She's scared," he supplied softly. "I know. God knows I know – hell, I'm bloody terrified I'm going to screw up another kid and… you don't need to listen to me whinging."

She smiled softly, looking up at him with much effort. "I signed up for Harry Peace, whinger extraordinaire," she teased very softly, flinching when the needle pierced her skin, despite her attention being diverted. "Harry?"

"Mmm?"

"You'll take care of her, right?"

"No, Ruth, don't you dare – don't you give up and say goodbye –"

"I'm not – I just… if anything happens to me, I need to know."

"She's my daughter; of course I'll take care of her, for as long as I'm able," he said gruffly.

She nodded, feeling her tenuous grip on reality beginning to fade. The dark spots in her vision were getting much larger and she was having a hard time even keeping her eyes open. "I love you," she whispered. "So much."

"Ruth, sweetheart, I need you to look at me – Ruth, love, please –"

She struggled to open her eyes again, taking in the frantic worry on his face – the Harry of old would never have looked at her that way. "I'm so tired," she rasped.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. But I need you to stay with me, okay?" His hands pressed harder against her shoulder and she nearly jolted out of the chair despite her weakened state. "Tell me about Hope, when she was little."

"You don't want to hear about that."

Ros's voice cut through their conversation. "Ruth, you need to hold on just a little longer – you've lost a lot of blood."

Ruth turned her head to look at the handsome agent sitting beside her, intimately connected to her via a plastic tube, blood coursing from his veins to hers. He was pale, sweating a little, and she knew then that it was worse than she thought. "If he keeps giving me blood, it's just going to –"

"It's just till the paramedics get here," Ros growled. "Tariq?"

"One minute," he responded.

"Ruth?" Harry said softly, drawing her attention back to him. "I'm sorry. For everything I've done – and haven't done. Do you understand?"

She nodded, breathing a little easier. "I'm sorry, too." She knew he was trying to be pragmatic in the face of everything, trying to let her go if he had to. He was trying to absolve them both of the guilt that embraced them like a shroud.

"I never meant you to be hurt," he whispered.

"The road to Hell, Harry," she murmured, the darkness pressing in on her from all angles now. "I –"

"Shh," he breathed.

She heard a rush of movement, clanking of equipment, voices barking words that made no sense. The world closed in on itself like a rush of water descending on her, drowning her. All was dark and still, and she was so grateful for the silence.

* * *

The waiting room was cold and Harry shivered involuntarily. It had started snowing as the ambulance had made its way to the nearest hospital, and his coat was god only knew where. He'd already removed his ruined jumper and been horrified by the sheer amount of blood that wasn't his own that he was sporting; the blood had soaked through the wool and his shirt, straight to his skin, forming an itchy, sticky layer that he was aching to go wash off.

Ros was watching him with concern. "She's going to be okay, Harry."

He resumed pacing, his knees screaming in protest, but he couldn't sit down. He couldn't. He needed to be in motion, to be active, to do something. "You don't know that." He knew the words were clipped, cruel, even, but they had to be said. "She lost a lot of blood for just a shoulder wound."

"It nicked an artery, that's all," Ros assured him. "I hear tell of a similar incident involving you, Tom Quinn, and a shotgun – and god knows your fat arse nearly bit it."

A tiny smile tugged at Harry's lips. "Too stubborn to die, me," he said, as if he was proud of that fact. It was the only thing that had managed to keep him alive over the years: sheer bloody determination. "But Ruth…"

"She'll be fine," Ros repeated. "Jo and Malcolm will be here any minute with your family and a change of clothes for you."

Harry nodded stiffly. "I can't believe I couldn't see it was about –"

"Harry, we knew. That's why we brought Tom and Christine on board," Ros said softly. "You didn't need to know anything but your part."

"My part," he spat, "nearly got her _killed_, Ros."

"Look, it was a sound operation, and you both behaved exactly as we were hoping you would," Ros sighed. "Well, except for the bit where Ruth basically became Wonder Woman and beat the shit out of the bad guys. That was entirely unexpected. Pleasing, but unexpected."

"She's stronger than you give her credit for," Harry muttered.

"Yeah, she has to be, living on the run and having to be prepared for anything," Ros said. "But she's not on the run anymore, Harry. She's been given her reprieve and she's got you. Why would she run?"

"To stay one step ahead of Five," he shot back bitterly. "I'm complicit in all of this – I'm a symptom of the problem, not the solution. Do you think for one second once she's out of danger, she's going to sit back on her hands? No – she's going to go back to ground."

"Why do you say that?" Ros asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Because it's what I would do," Harry grunted. "It's always hardest when you realize that your greatest enemy is your friends."

"Harry… I know you've been saying the last five years that you intended to retire for good when we'd completed Operation Wentworth, and I think it's a good idea – for the sake of your family," Ros said, her voice suddenly gentle.

"What about Ruth?" he shot back angrily.

"There's no reason she can't be officially decommissioned once we finish the debrief," Ros murmured. "If that's what she wants."

"She won't want to go back to Five," he growled. "Don't even offer it as an option. I will not –"

"It isn't your choice, Harry; it's Ruth's choice."

He was about to launch into a diatribe of just what a truly _**fucking**__ awful_ idea it was for Ruth to go back to work for Five in any capacity when the door to the waiting room burst open and Lucy shrieked, "Granpa, Granpa – " The next thing he knew, the tiny bundle of ceaseless energy was catapulting into his legs with enough force to nearly knock him down.

"Sorry, dad," Catherine said as she came in behind her. "She got away for a second – Luce, bunny, c'mere. Grandad needs to go change clothes. Hope?"

Hope was lingering in the doorway, looking small and startled, clutching a duffel bag in her hands. "Daddy?" she said, her voice wobbling.

"She's going to be okay," Harry promised out of habit, more than anything else. He didn't know what the _fuck_ he was going to do if Ruth wasn't okay. "Hope, she's going to be fine."

Malcolm and Jo came in, immediately moving to take up residence in plastic chairs flanking Ros. Lucy reluctantly let go of Harry and went to Catherine, who was already pulling out her tablet and some small toys from a bag – ever prepared, Harry charged the tablet every day and made up a bag of distractions in case he and Lucy were out somewhere and got stuck. Like the day there had been a bomb threat on the subway and they'd been on the uptown train; he'd never been so glad to have juice boxes, cookies, and Lucy's toys in his life. Hope took a few unsteady steps toward him, and he met her halfway, hugging her tight. She pushed the bag into his hands and leaned against him, obviously trying not to cry.

"What did Zaf tell you?" Harry asked.

"That mom got hurt and he didn't know if you were," Hope whispered weakly.

"I'm fine," Harry said softly, rubbing her back.

"You've got blood all over you –"

"Your mum got shot," Ros said bluntly. "She lost a lot of blood, and your dad was trying to keep pressure on the wound. He's fine. She's in surgery. Hence why you brought him a change of clothes."

"Ros," Harry said, his voice carrying a stern note of warning – which he knew she would ignore.

"What, you want me to lie to her?" Ros shot back.

"I signed the Official Secrets Act," Hope said, lifting her chin stubbornly. "In the car on the way here. So you can tell me what happened and why my mom got hurt."

Harry felt a strong surge of pride at that; his little girl was going toe to toe with a lioness and she was going to prevail. "Hope, I'm going to go get cleaned up," he said softly. "You've met Jo and Malcolm before."

"Are those their real names?" Hope shot back.

"Joanna Portman," Jo said, her eyes twinkling despite her emotionless face.

"Malcolm Wynn-Jones," Malcolm introduced himself.

"And I'm Ros Lawrence," Ros said, retracting her claws suddenly. "God, you're just like your mother – stubborn to a fault."

Hope raised an eyebrow. "Well, Ros, in that case, you'd better start talking."

Catherine bit back a chuckle and looked up at Harry with a lopsided grin. He was smiling back as he released Hope, distracting her for only a moment with a gentle kiss to her forehead. "I'll be back," he promised. "Don't eat Ros."

"I would never," Hope said, wrinkling her nose.

"Good girl," he praised softly, giving her another reassuring kiss – this time on the cheek. Unused to his affection being displayed in that way, she looked uneasy, but the whole situation was just ramming home how much work he still had to put in to be her father, really be her father.

He retreated from the waiting room, shuffling wearily down the corridor to the nurses' station, inquiring about somewhere he could shower and wash away the substantial amount of blood on him. It went against all hospital protocol, but upon hearing his was with the MI-5 group, an exception was immediately made and he found himself being led to what was basically a locker room. He was provided with towels and soap, and told to take no longer than fifteen minutes – and dispose of the unused soap when he was finished. Someone would come and sterilize the shower when he was done.

He stripped and stepped under the blindingly hot water, praying that he could get all the blood off his skin. He wasn't going to break down, not here, not in the bloody shower in a bloody hospital; he would save it for later, when he could close the doors and shut away the world.

Fifteen minutes later, he emerged from the locker room and smiled at the nurse who had been posted at the door. She didn't look that old – maybe twenty-five? – and she eyed him up. "Your wife is in post-op," she said. "I don't know anything more than that, though. They'll be in to talk to you and your family in about half an hour or so."

Harry swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay," he said softly.

"I heard she got shot by a terrorist."

Harry's lip twitched. "That's a tricky definition."

"One who seeks to terrorize – it's not that tricky, Mr. Pearce."

He nodded and sighed. "Yes. In that definition, he was a terrorist. I need to get back to my family, please excuse me." He made his way back the way he'd come, feeling tired and sad all in the same breath, even though, logically, he didn't need to be sad – Ruth was alive. That was what mattered.

Catherine looked up when he came back into the waiting room, her eyes hopeful. He shook his head, lying for the moment and indicating he hadn't heard anything. Better they be surprised and relieved together; after all, they were a family, as cobbled together as they were.

Hope was deep in conversation with Ros in the corner, the older woman looking very reserved as she spoke softly, Hope more animated, cheeks flushed, upset but not raising her voice.

Harry went to sit between Malcolm and Jo. "There haven't been any fisticuffs while I was showering, I take it?"

"Hope is a very level-headed girl, much like her parents," Malcolm said pointedly.

"Being level-headed isn't something anyone has accused me of in a very long time," Harry commented. "In fact, after Cotterdam, the exact opposite rang true."

"No comment," Jo said with a small smirk.

Harry exhaled, tried to remain calm, placid, like a duck on a millpond. "I'm afraid I've probably gone and buggered everything up with Ruth," he said dully. "I should have told her everything I knew and I didn't."

"You didn't know everything," Malcolm commented.

"Yes, well…"

"Including that Ros was in contact with Gina Hamilton prior to sending you in," Jo said. "Gina shot you on Ros's authority, to keep you away from the mission for a few months while we tracked Ruth down."

Harry's jaw twitched. "That duplicitous whore –"

"Harry, you were close to blowing the whole operation," Jo murmured. "You have no idea how close. Years of planning and pulling strings and – you almost blew everything."

He grunted and picked at his cuticles. "Sorry," he muttered.

"It's all washed out in the end," Malcolm commented.

Hope stood up and came over to them. Malcolm deferred to her and moved so she could sit next to Harry. "Hey," Harry said softly, holding Hope's hand when she offered it to him.

"Hey. You work with some crazy people," she commented dryly.

Harry's lips twitched into a smile. "Yeah," he agreed. "You okay?"

Hope nodded. "I hope mom's going to be okay."

"She will be," he promised. "She's got to come back to you, kiddo."

"Zaf said she was hurt and he didn't know if you were – and I was so scared, dad. So scared I was going to lose you both."

"Hey now," Harry said softly, pulling her into a hug. "Hey now, none of that – your mum is the bravest person I've ever known. She's brave, and strong, and fearless when it comes to protecting the people she loves. She's always going to fight to come home to you, kiddo, always."

"But she got shot," Hope protested.

"She was fearless," Harry said firmly. "She broke the cable ties, disabled one of the guards, and shot three men dead in less than twenty seconds."

"But she got shot –"

"When she disarmed the first guard," Harry confirmed, his voice soft. "It doesn't diminish her courage or her will to survive."

"I'm sorry, dad," Hope whispered.

"For what, kiddo?"

"Fighting with you the other night."

He smiled a little, then said, "You were right."

"But I'm not supposed to disrespect my elders and –"

"It's okay," he assured her.

The waiting room door opened and a doctor stepped through. "Pearce family?" he inquired.

"Yes," Harry said simply.

The doctor smiled. "She's in recovery now. She's awake and asking for Hope and Harry?"

"You go first," Harry said softly, nudging Hope.

"No, she wants you both," the doctor said. "I told her one at a time, and she told me if I didn't want to meet a violent end, I would go collect the both of you."

Hope giggled. "Sounds like mom," she said. She stood up, still holding Harry's hand. "Come on, dad."

He didn't know when he'd shifted in her mind from being 'Harry' to being 'dad', but he would be unsurprised if it had been that afternoon, when she'd been unsure of his life or death. Regardless, he was grateful for it, and thrilled to see her smiling and hear her laughing, even if it was just a little hysterical giggle. "I'm coming," he said, struggling to his feet. "I'm not young anymore, kiddo. You've got to be more patient with me."

"I know," she said softly, squeezing his hand.

The walk to the recovery room was quiet, and when they arrived, Ruth was looking rather small and battered in her bed. "Thank god," she exhaled.

Hope released his hand and hurried to the bed, accepting her mother's possessive caresses and tender kisses. "Mommy, I'm so glad you're okay," Hope said quietly.

"I was so worried about you," Ruth murmured. "Zaf took good care of you?"

Hope nodded. "Yeah, mom – he did."

Ruth looked up at Harry, her eyes filled with tears. "Are you –"

"I'm fine," he assured her. "Believe me, everyone has been more worried about you than me."

"Did they tell you…?"

"No, but it doesn't matter now," he said. "All that matters is that you'll be okay."

Ruth smiled hesitantly, lazily – he knew she was doped up on a pain drip. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you. I love you both so much."

"We know," he assured her.

"Mom, we love you, too," Hope said softly, reaching back to hold Harry's hand. "We both do. So stop getting hurt, okay?"

Ruth laughed and looked over the top of Hope's head, directly at Harry. "I remember telling you not to get shot," she quipped. "Did you listen to me?"

"Marginally," he responded with a small smile.

"Okay, Mrs. Pearce, it's time to get you to your room," a nurse said, coming in with a smile. "Oh, are you –"

"My husband and daughter," Ruth said with a smile.

"Well, they should get on home – we're going to give you a sedative so you can sleep through tonight. Come back tomorrow during visiting hours," the nurse said brusquely.

"Don't talk to them like that," Ruth snapped. "Don't you dare speak to them like that."

"Ruth, love, it's all right – she's quite right. We should go home and let you rest," Harry said gently.

"No," Ruth said stubbornly. "I'm sorry – this is not negotiable. You stay with me or I leave AMA right now. I didn't get shot protecting you for you to go scarpering off."

"I don't scarper," Harry sighed.

"We're staying with her," Hope said. "You wanna make a scene? There's a waiting room full of mad people with guns who will be glad to set you straight. They kinda like my mom and dad – a lot."

"There will be an armed guard on Lady Pearce's room," Harry added for good measure. He was pretty sure that Ros would insist on it if he suggested it. "We will stay out of the way and behave," he promised.

"Speak for yourself," Hope shot back.

Ruth smirked at the nurse. "I've had a rather traumatic day," she confessed. "I would rather like my family with me."

"It goes against all procedures."

"Bugger your procedures," Ruth hissed. "I got shot protecting him, and I'll be damned if I let him out of my sight for even a second." Her hand fell heavily, clumsily, on top of his, and he wrapped his fingers around hers: united. "Harry, don't leave," she ordered. "Don't leave me alone here."

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised gently. "If you would please send an administrator in, ma'am, I would appreciate it. I'm certain there are ways around the procedures that won't compromise your work or my wife's continued recovery." He should have been a politician – except he hated them with all the fire of the sun. He ran his thumb comfortingly over the back of Ruth's hand, content in the moment just to revel in the knowledge that she was alive.

He tried not to think of how he had felt when the shooting had stopped and she had sat down, bleeding and in pain. How frightened his had been; he was a coward in the face of losing her now that he had her back in his life. How unprepared he had been for her actions, for the way things had gone pear-shaped. He tried to relax, but failed: he had fallen off the wall and now he was broken ala Humpty Dumpty; no longer the MI-5 boss spook, he was just an old man clinging to his memories.


End file.
